


where the wind’s like a whetted knife

by inkwelled



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Blood and Injury, Dark Magic, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Huddling For Warmth, Humans vs Elves, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Linear Narrative, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Polyamory, Road Trips, Sign Language, Swordfighting, does this even count as road trip if they’re running for their lives and it’s the middle ages?, probably not, this caters to a specific demographic and it’s me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-12-07 03:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwelled/pseuds/inkwelled
Summary: General Amaya finds her sister in the spot she always does. The piece of parchment left on her desk - still closed with the uneven towers of Katolis' signa when her shift on the battlements was over - requested her presence at her earliest convenience.Updates on Mondays!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here it is!! finally!! i promised on my twitter (follow me @ cinnamnym) that when i reached 600 followers that i would have a surprise and early this morning, i reached that mark! so here it is - my baby. i've been working on this bad boy for almost a month now and i'm so excited for it to be out and published.
> 
> updates will be every sunday.
> 
> please do note though that there's two tags for relationships with amaya - it's because i haven't decided whether gremaya or janaya is endgame yet. hell, who knows? maybe this'll be an ot3. we'll see where the writing takes us. as of right now, i have four chapters written and at least ten outlined but i've never been good with multi-chapter fics. too much commitment.
> 
> title ; [sea fever](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54932/sea-fever-56d235e0d871e) by john masefield

General Amaya finds her sister in the spot she always does. The piece of parchment left on her desk - still closed with the uneven towers of Katolis' signa when her shift on the battlements was over - requested her presence at her earliest convenience. 

_Do not wait up,_  she had signed quickly to Lieutenant Gren. He had nodded her, wishing her goodnight as she shouldered a thicker, denser cloak and stepped back into the night. 

She is glad, now. The wind nips at her nose and she buries her face further into the scratchy, warm folds. 

It isn’t hard to find her older sister.  

Queen Sarai of the kingdom of Katolis stands tall on the battlements between two watchtowers, squinting out at the darkness that surrounds the castle. 

She doesn’t turn when Amaya approaches, although she knows her arrival is heard. Amaya halts within Sarai's peripheral, knowing her sister can see her even if she chooses not to acknowledge. 

_My queen,_  she signs after she bends at the waist before straightening. _You summoned?_  

Sarai, after all, is her queen as much as she is her sister. 

_You know how I hate formalities,_  Sarai signs before turning back to the darkness. _Stand, General._  

Amaya watches her older sister closely.  

She stands stiffly beneath her armor. Despite being queen, her sister does not fancy large gowns like their brother and sister kingdoms. It’s more common to find Queen Sarai in trousers and a tunic than a corset, laced beneath her heavy armor than with skirts of tulle. Behind her, her dark blue cloak flutters weakly in the wind that’s coming off the mountains that surround their border. Sarai’s hand is curled around her spear, gilded blades flashing in the fire.  

Amaya doesn’t have to look down to know the butt of the two-bladed spear is being dug into the stone. Her sister, while quiet, has always worn her heart on her sleeve.  

_Your Highness?_  

“There is a threat against King Harrow’s life,” Sarai says aloud. Despite being turned away, General Amaya can understand the movement of her sister’s lips. Sarai has always enunciated for Amaya's sake, even after her younger sister no longer required it. “We received word yesterday. This stays between us, General.” 

Amaya nods, clamping her fist to her breastplate. _What are your orders, Your Majesty?_  

Her older sister’s face softens when she turns, lines of her face relaxing in the flickering firelight of the torches.  

_Amaya,_  she signs, stepping forward to lean her spear against the stone, _this is not an order from your queen. This is a plea from your sister and a mother. I am entrusting you with the boys._  

_I don’t understand,_  Amaya admits. 

Sarai sighs, a heavy thing.  

_War is coming, sister,_  Sarai signs. From inside her fur-lined fine gloves, her fingers are not freezing but her lungs are with the crisp air and the knowledge, _and the boys are no longer safe here. We don’t know the extent of the threat and when they intend to strike. But we do know they are not only coming for the king._

_The crown prince,_  Amaya realizes with horror. 

Sarai doesn’t answer. Amaya doesn’t need her reply to know. Her older sister is turned back to the night but Amaya sees the slump in her shoulders under her silver armor, the shallow rise beneath her breastplate.  

_Where will you have us go? Am I to proceed alone?_  

Her sister takes a deep breath in. Neither one comments on the tears that slide down Sarai’s cheeks but are quickly dashed away. 

_We sent word to the other kingdoms yesterday but there has been no reply. We are alone in this._

Amaya's blood boils. _Not one kingdom responded?_

_No,_ Sarai signs.  _So it's up to you._ _Take someone you trust,_ Sarai signs _. I trust you'll choose Gren. I have supplies and two horses for you in the stables. You leave when the moon is highest, head towards port to land in Evenere. Everything else is explained in this. We don't have time for anything more._  

Sarai's hand unearths from beneath her cloak as Amaya blinks. _Tonight?_  

“You must,” Sarai says urgently aloud, stepping closer to take Amaya’s hands so she can’t argue. Amaya doesn’t dare to tear her eyes away from Sarai’s face. “You must, Amaya. They aren’t safe here but I know they’ll be safe with you. You are their aunt and the strongest person I know. They are your nephews and the future of this kingdom. Please.” 

The parchment roll presses into her hand, beseeching.  

Amaya’s face tightens and she nods. In the next moment, Sarai pulls her into a hug and Amaya can feel the vibrations of _‘I love you’_ being murmured into her neck.

Sarai pulls back. _Keep them safe for me,_  Sarai signs and Amaya nods fiercely. She clasps her fist to her breastplate, bows. 

_I will not fail you, sister._  

Sarai smiles tearfully and turns back to patrol. Amaya hesitates for only a moment, knowing there isn’t much time and she has much to do.  

First thing on her list is to wake Gren.  

Amaya imagines the noise he makes when roused from sleep is like a low whine. In the almost-dark of his chambers, Gren blinks at her for a moment before bolting upwards, knowing that his commanding officer would only rouse him from sleep if the situation was immediate.  

_General Amaya?_  

_Up,_ she orders. _I will explain on the way. Dress for battle._ _Be as quiet as you are hasty._

Amaya is folding a tunic and trousers when Gren walks through. Their quarters are connected, as Lieutenant Gren is her interpreter and right-hand man.  

Where she goes, he goes. 

Gren clasps his hand above his heart, bows. Amaya waves him off, stuffing an extra cloak into her pack with a muffled grunt.  

_No time for formalities,_ she signs quickly when she turns, slinging the pack over her shoulder. _I trust you are packed?_  

_Yes._  

She nods. _Follow me, Lieutenant. Stay close. Quiet. I'll explain later._  

They travel in silence. Amaya knows their armor must be clinking as they make their way down the winding stairs of their quarters to the stables. It's a miracle they don't come across anyone, but Amaya has taken the servant's corridors for a reason.  

For all his curiosity that Amaya can feel burning into her back, Gren does as she says. 

_Go directly to the stables,_  Sarai's letter had ordered when she unraveled the roll, the paper rough in her hands when she removed her gloves, broken the seal under the candlelight of her chambers. _We will escort the boys from their chamber. Be hasty, sister. We do not have much time but there is much to do._  

The stables are dim and still.  

General Amaya motions for Lieutenant Gren to slow as she draws her shield. Gren does not carry his own weapon besides a dagger in his boot and at his side, his preferred weapon being her voice and will. 

It is enough. 

Firelight from the torches on the wall flutters and Amaya whirls, raises her shield, other arm reaching for her sword -  

King Harrow steps from the third stall.  

Her brother-in-law stands tall, impassive, but Amaya can see the circles beneath his brown eyes from many a sleepless night. Harrow's eyebrows raise at Amaya's drawn sword and she presses her lips together, inclining her head with respect as she sheathes it. 

Harrow chuckles but it's humorless. He motions them forward and the two of them follow King Harrow out of the stables. 

General Amaya sees the torches before anything else.  

They round the corner of the stables to the back side. Amaya steps forward into the light to see Queen Sarai, kneeling. 

Harrow approaching must alert her because she turns and Amaya can see Ezran, chest heaving with sadness, his ever-present glowtoad clutched to his chest. He's clad in a too-big cloak, thick and heavy.  

Amaya suspects from a soldier's uniform. 

She catches sight of Callum then, hand on his brother's shoulder from behind. They're both listening to whatever their mother is saying but they both look up when Sarai turns, alerted most likely by Amaya and Gren's armor. 

Ezran's mouth forms her name and he looks concerned for a moment before Amaya kneels in time to catch him. She presses him into her, eyes closing, breathing in the scent of little boy and jelly tarts, the heady smell of the kitchens he so loves to sneak around in.  

Sarai must have told him just enough that the young prince understood that he and his brother would be taking a trip with their aunt. 

Ezran is young but perceptive. Amaya knows that he's aware something else is going on. 

She looks up in time to see Gren half-bow to Callum, who nods solemnly. Amaya notes the death-grip on his sketchbook's strap on his shoulder, the tick of his pointer finger tapping against the leather. 

He knows, then.  

More than Ezran, at least. She can't gauge how much her sister has told him, though. 

Ezran pulls back and she sends him the most reassuring smile she can before standing. Callum appears at his brother's side, says something under his breath. 

He smiles hesitantly at his aunt before turning away. Hand on Ezran's shoulder, Callum gently steers them towards the two horses that Harrow is still packing saddlebags onto. 

Amaya stands as Sarai approaches, her sister's eyes only on her sons. There is a deep sadness there, something below the surface. She knows her older sister isn't telling her everything. 

_Thank you,_  Sarai signs and Amaya is the one who pulls her close this time. 

Her older sister trembles minutely in her arms and Amaya's heart breaks for her. She's queen and a warrior, the most equipped to keep her family safe yet in the face of an unknown threat, she's the most vulnerable.  

Amaya's fingers curl in the soft of her sister's cloak. She resists the urge to bury her face in the cloth. She remembers these hugs, when the Queen was a Lady with a bastard son and iron fist against anyone who said anything vicious. 

The princes may lose their mother tonight.  

Amaya may lose her sister. 

_Keep them safe, please,_ Sarai begs when she pulls back, eyes intense, hands moving so quickly that Amaya can hardly keep up. _Do whatever it takes to keep them alive._  

She presses the last sentence into Amaya's breastplate as if she's digging them deep into her sister's skin, into her breast, to the organ beneath that beats warm and wild.  

Amaya makes a promise so potent it rattles between her ribs, in the cracks between her armor where they click together. 

_You have my word._  

The rest of the send-off happens with little fanfare. Ezran is wary but mostly excited, if not sleepy. After all, being pulled from bed this late into the night is not usual for the ten-year-old prince.  

Amaya watches Callum closely as he straightens his shoulders and hugs the King. She knows his fears about the King, about calling him Dad - about loving him as much as Harrow loves him.  

As much as Ezran loves Harrow.  

It's written all over Callum's face when he pulls back from the short hug and Amaya can see the hurt in Harrow's eyes for a moment. As if his step-son is being ripped from him in more ways than one. 

She knows Callum sees it too. Recognizes it. 

Callum falls back into Harrow's arms nary a second later.  

She thinks he must make a choking sound then, his body wracking for a moment when he buries his head in his father's shoulder. 

Amaya looks away when Harrow's arms tighten around his son. Shorn beard pressing to Callum's ear, she sees his lips move but looks away.  

Even watching is eavesdropping. Right before her eyes tear away, though, she sees Harrow press a roll of parchment into Callum's hands, his mouth forming the word _promise._  

Gren appears at her right, already saddled.  

_Destination, General?_  

_Far port,_  Amaya signs. _We move quickly and quietly. You know as well as I that this isn't the normal mission. Stay close, eyes open._  

Gren nods as Callum walks up. Her eldest nephew wipes his nose on his sleeve, looks up at her.  

She jerks her head, motioning for him to climb up. 

With only the tiniest bit of trouble does he. Amaya scoots back on the saddle and Callum settles in front of her. 

Ezran's smile stretches wide when Harrow's hug turns into a lift onto Gren's horse. Copying the General's move, Gren lets the crown prince sit in front of him. Bait is curled up in Ezran's lap. 

Sarai appears, peppering Ezran's cheeks with kisses. While he squirms away at first, Ezran throws his arms around his mother's neck.  

Amaya watches Sarai's back wrack with quiet sobs she knows that her sister is desperately trying to tamper down. She pulls back, face turned just enough that Amaya can see her mouth. 

Sarai cups Ezran's cheeks. 

"Goodbye, my boy," she says, lips wet with salt. Ezran looks confused, reaching out to wipe away some of her tears.  

"Mom?" 

"I love you," she says insistently and he smiles cautiously, in the way kids do when they don't know what's going on but want everything to be okay. 

"I love you too, Mom." 

Amaya bites her lip when new tears roll down Sarai's cheeks. She can't bear to look away, not now. She needs to know the severity of the situation and knows only Sarai's reaction will tell her. 

When Sarai turns fully, her eyes are red and swollen. Amaya watches Harrow embrace his son as well, sees the sadness in Gren's eyes.  

Ezran doesn't know. Gren and Amaya's gazes meet. 

He never will. 

Sarai comes to a halt barely inches from Amaya's mare's flank. She looks up at Callum, already on the saddle, smiles wobbily. "Breathe," she says softly, lips pursing and Callum's shoulders go lax. "Breathe, darling. It'll be okay." 

Amaya averts her gaze but can feel the vibrations of Callum's response. "Mom?" 

It's uncertain.  

"Take care of your brother," Sarai instructs, wrapping her eldest son in her arms. "Listen to your aunt and Gren. They will keep you safe no matter what." 

"I will do my best," Callum promises steadily and Amaya can feel the determined beat of his heart behind his breastbone. 

Sarai swallows a sob. "We will see each other again," she murmurs. "I believe that."  

Both of them are crying now but Sarai steps away, stands tall, nods to Amaya. 

General Amaya of the Standing Batallion nods back. The parchment roll in her cloak burns as Gren draws up beside her. 

It's time to go. 

It's silent but they know this may be the last time they see each other. It's a slap in the face that Amaya can't recover from. She wants to throw her arms around her older sister, cry as loud as she wants though she can't hear it, sign everything she's ever wanted to say into Sarai's hands. 

Sarai's eyes hear her though Amaya's fingers don't move. 

There's understanding there. It kills Amaya. 

She nods back. 

As Amaya draws up the reins and clicks her heels against the horse's flank, she remembers the tears dripping down her sister's cheeks when they pulled back from their hug. Amaya remembers how she rested her forehead against Sarai's. 

How the cold of Sarai's circlet pressed into her skin, reminding her of her duty to these boys. So much more than her nephews but her princes. 

Her responsibility. 

Amaya raises her hand in a goodbye and Sarai's shoulders shake when she lifts her own hand in the same motion. Harrow's hand settles around her shoulders and he looks on, quiet acceptance and grief dancing behind the kindness in his eyes that Sarai had fallen for. 

Then they're off. 

It doesn't escape Amaya's notice how Callum keeps looking back until the forest swallows up the sight of his mother and stepfather. Until the castle fades from view, until the fire of the torches around the battlements and the sound of the horns that signal shift change sound. 

Gren stops perking up every so often. Amaya draws her own conclusions. 

They all ride in silence for about two hours. 

In the midst of both watching their surroundings and keeping an eye on Gren, Ezran asleep against his chestplate, Amaya almost misses the movement of Callum's fingers. 

At first she thinks it's another nervous tick but catches /again/. 

She knits her eyebrows. _Again, my boy._  

Callum doesn't look up at her, just straight ahead into the darkness. The scarf around his neck, underneath the thick cloak Sarai had draped around his shoulders before pulling him into a bruising hug, stirs in the wind. 

_We won't see them again, will we?_  

Amaya has never been able to lie to Callum. She signs quickly. 

_I don't know,_  she says honestly. She tries to keep the movement of her fingers from Ezran's sight, knowing that while he's shaky, he still knows enough sign language to understand the bare bones. _It is my hope that you will be together again one day but it's for your safety._  

_They're coming to kill Ez and Harrow._  

Callum's hand quivers when he signs Harrow, starting the beginning of _dad_ before changing to his name. It's not a question, though.  

The thought raises a lump in Amaya's throat. 

_I don't know. Your mother trusted me to keep you and your brother safe. I promise I will do everything in my power to bring you two home to your parents when the time is right._  

_I know you will._  

They both don't mention how Sarai entrusting the boys to Amaya means the threat is at least legitimate to a fault. If the alarm was false, they wouldn't have been sent off with the one person who would sacrifice body and soul for their wellbeing. 

Callum doesn't speak for the rest of the time.

* * *

_They break camp. Night is rapidly approaching, and they are three days out._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rewind and a nightmare as the journey continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tentative and definitely NOT concrete chapter count is ten but as i'm in the middle of writing ch11, we shall see.
> 
> unrelated, but i was listening to stay still by jome and exes while i wrote and edited this and then again as i published. i think it really captures the melancholy tone of this chapter. more structured focus on amaya and gren and callum and ezran and some other characters will start to emerge the further we get into this. i still think my pacing is a bit off and i'm stuffing a lot of information into long chapters but it is what it is.
> 
> honestly, i feel a little bad because i know i barely have time to write 2.7-2.9k a week but i see other authors writing this and MORE in less than me and i feel kinda guilty. some chapters will be longer and some shorter - i don't know right now. it all depends on my free time. 
> 
> enjoy! see y'all next sunday

_"Callum. Callum, up."_

_He blinks awake, eyelids heavy. "Mom?"_

_The weak candlelight coming from the single candle in his mother's hand illuminates her face. It seems to float in the darkness of his chamber. "Up, darling," she murmurs, hand on his arm. "I need you to move. Quickly."_

_Callum throws off his covers, bare feet pressing to the stone. A quick glance to his brother's connected chambers reveals Harrow bent over Ezran's sleeping form, murmuring something. A candle is at his side as Ezran blinks awake, Bait making a displeased sound about being roused from sleep._

_His mother's face is long and drawn with worry. Her eyes, usually surrounded by laughter lines, are tight with concern when she pushes Callum's clothes to his chest before picking up his pack. "Quick," she whispers hurriedly as she begins to flit around the darkened room. "With haste, my boy."_

_"What's going on?" he yawns as he slides on his trousers, folds up his sleep tunic and sets it aside. "Mom? What's happening?"_

_When Sarai turns, Callum is wide awake. There are tears hovering in her lash line, barely held back. Callum steps closer._

_"Mom? Are you okay?"_

_Her hand is warm when it cups his cheek. "I will explain once we get moving," she whispers. "I love you, Callum. I love you and your brother so much. I hope you will understand one day."_

_Callum's eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth to ask more, anything, an explanation for the tears and the worry lines and the quick, hurried movements. But Sarai is already moving, pack pressing into Callum's hands as she slings his sketchbook over his shoulder._

_Hand on his back, she steers him into Ezran's chamber._

_Ezran is yawning wide, Harrow's fingers tugging his shirt down. He spots his mother through the door as the collar reveals his messy bedhead and warm eyes. "Mom?" he yawns, rubbing at his eyes as Harrow kneels to slip on his shoes._

_"Hello, baby," his mother murmurs, coming to kneel in front of him. She rests a hand on his knee. "I am sorry to wake you but you're taking a trip."_

_"A trip?" Ezran asks, his eyes lighting up. Callum's stomach turns._

_They aren't taking a trip. His parent's aren't coming_

_"Are you coming?"_

_Sarai's spine straightens and Callum catches the look she exchanges with Harrow. It makes him want to throw up - he hates being treated as a kid. Something's going on they aren't telling him._

_"No," Sarai murmurs, lifting him onto her hip. "I'm not, baby, but your Aunt Amaya is in! You remember Gren, right?"_

_Ezran rests his head in the crook of his mother's neck and shoulder, unbothered by her full armor. It's just another detail that puts Callum on edge - both the King and Queen are in full battle armor, swords by their sides and circlets on._

_They never wear their armor around the princes._

_There's a snake in Callum's throat, coiling. Ezran's arms come around Sarai's neck as he yawns again, head lolling and Sarai chuckles sorrowfully. "You can sleep on the way," she says and nods to Harrow._

_The King nods back, side-stepping Sarai to open the door that leads to the corridor. Ezran's head shoots up._

_"Wait, Mom! Bait!"_

_Both adults chuckle. "Dad will get them," Sarai soothes as she steps through the door, motioning with one hand for Callum to follow. Stone in the pit of his stomach, he does._

_The corridor is dim with torches and devoid of guards. Another thing that makes the nerves in his fingertips spark and his lungs to grow smaller - there's always guards outside their door._

_After all, the crown prince of Katolis sleeps inside._

_"Come," Sarai urges. Despite her low tone, her voice echoes._

_A cold wind sweeps from somewhere and Callum shivers, drawing his arms tight around him. Sarai catches the movement, her gaze hardening for a moment._

_Harrow appears a second later, key in hand. He presses the key into the hand that isn't supporting Ezran and takes the boy without a word exchanged. Sarai's eyes follow the movement._

_Callum doesn't miss the way his mother's fingers curl, almost as if she's reaching for Ezran. She straightens a second later, the devastated look on her face evaporating so quickly that Callum wonders if he missed it._

_"Cloaks," Sarai murmurs. Harrow nods, turning down the corridor after kissing her cheek._

_Sarai approaches him, puts her hand on his shoulder. Callum swallows._

_There's understanding in Sarai's eyes. "Don't be afraid," she whispers. "I love you, Callum. I will be right back. Listen to Harrow, keep close. I wish I could say more."_

_Callum swallows the stone on his tongue. "I'm not afraid," he says and his mother's hug is fierce and quick. "I love you too."_

_She disappears down the opposite end of the corridor with a sweep of her midnight cloak. Harrow makes eyes contact, nodding, candlestick in hand. "Callum," he murmurs, lowering his head. "Follow me. Please. She'll be there when we say goodbye."_

_His voice is quiet enough as to not let Ezran hear. Callum tightens his grip on his sketchbook. "Alright. Where are we going?"_

_"Somewhere safe," Harrow mutters, not unkindly as he turns away. "Amaya will explain as will Sarai but time is short. I need you to keep moving."_

_Without another word, Callum follows._

_He stares at his step-father's back as they walk, descend stairs Callum's never seen before. In the dark, only illuminated by a single candle, everything looks different. He jumps at the long shadows on the stone, the creaking of the doors they pass through._

_Harrow's hand wraps around Callum's arm and yanks. He stifles a yelp as his step-father sidesteps into a room Callum hadn't seen, pressing him into the wall._

_Two guards pass by, none the wiser._

_Callum's stomach flips at the breath of relief Harrow takes. The suspicion is turning to fear, now, that something's going on. "What's going on?"_

_Harrow hushes him, peeking into the corridor. "Take your brother, Callum," he instructs and Callum nods as Harrow sets him down._

_"Ezran, I need you to go with your brother. You're going to the stables. Wait in the third stall and don't come out until your mother or I come to get you, alright?"_

_"Like hide and seek?" Ezran says blearily, rubbing at his eyes. Bait grumbles in his arms, glowing softly._

_Harrow's smile is tiny in the candlelight. Overhead, Callum can hear the trumpets that signal shift change. Harrow's smile tightens into something more worrisome._

_"Go now," he instructs. Callum nods, takes Ezran's hand, and runs._

_The shift change means there's movement all over the battlements. Callum catches sight of swords swinging by hips, the murmur of soldiers switching out their positions for a night's rest._

_They move quickly and quietly. Callum shoves open the door to the stables, set towards the back of the courtyard of the castle, closes it behind them._

_"Callum? What's going on?"_

_He ignores Ezran, grabbing his little brother's hand and counting the stalls. They huddle behind the pile of hay in the third just as Harrow instructed and Callum presses a finger to Ezran's mouth when he opens it again._

_"I'll explain later," Callum murmurs. "Trust me, Ez. If you say anything Mom and Dad could find us and then we'll lose hide and seek."_

_Satisfied, Ezran slides down further, hushing a growling Bait. Callum's stomach is queasy. He hates lying to his little brother but there's something going on he can't identify._

_The stable door creaks open and Callum sucks in a breath, hand tightening around Ezran's arm._

_"Callum? Ezran? Are you in here?"_

_Ezran all but trips over himself in his haste to get out of the stall. "Mom! You found us!"_

_Callum catches her confused look for a second before he mouths hide and seek. Her frown turns into a smile. "I suppose I did! You'll do better next time!"_

_"It was Callum's idea," Ezran announces. Sarai chuckles, ruffling his hair._

_"Would you have chosen a different place to hide?"_

_Ezran continues talking as Sarai drapes a cloak around him. Callum notices the two heavy, guard-issued cloaks laid over her arm._

_They're going somewhere cold, then. Or maybe it's just for the night?_

_"Let me," Sarai murmurs, draping the material around Callum's shoulders and fastening it at his throat. He watches her warily, scanning every inch of her face. What is she hiding?_

_She's opening her mouth, eyebrows creasing. "Callum-"_

_"You should have gotten one for Bait!" Ezran says, holding the glowtoad close and wedging himself between Callum and Sarai. "He's gonna get cold, Mom."_

_The moment is gone. Callum's face falls._

_He loves his brother but he's never been the best when it came to timing._

_"Hmm," Sarai hums. "That is a problem."_

_Ezran nods. She screws up her face before lighting up. "Oh, I got it!"_

_She unclips her own cloak, draping it over Bait. The glowtoad growls happily, glowing pink and Sarai giggles._

_He frowns. He can see right through his mother._

_Like both Ezran and him, Sarai has always worn her heart on her sleeve. It beats warm and kind beneath her armor._

_There's the sound of a horse neighing softly and the clinking of boots. Sarai's smile wilts as she stands. "Time to go, my boys."_

* * *

 

They ride through the night and growing morning. Although Amaya's back aches, she spurs the mare to keep moving forward. She knows the more distance between them and the castle, the safer the princes are.

 _Moonshadow elves,_  the letter says in Sarai's loopy writing.

Amaya doesn't take relief in the way the quill almost seemed to quiver with the writing, ink lighter at the ends where Sarai didn't bother to dip in and gather more ink.

There isn't much talking.

They stop to camp as the sky is beginning to darken with dusk. Amaya takes first watch, all but glaring her Lieutenant into his bedroll beside Ezran. The crown prince is already fast asleep, mouth open just enough that a thin line of drool lands on Bait's eye. Amaya suppresses a chuckle as Bait swipes at the offending liquid with his tongue before turning back to watch.

She props herself against the tree trunk, laces her fingers together.

The rest of the night passes quickly.

The adrenaline still coursing from Sarai's letter keeps her awake. She doesn't bother to wake Gren, despite their agreed watch schedule, knowing he is exhausted from being pulled from bed early. She spears her sword in the ground, her shield against the tree she's leaning against, and watches the still forest around them.

The sky is starting to lighten, the sky coming alive with birds when she catches movement in her peripheral.

Amaya turns sharply, hand wrapping around her hilt.

It's Callum.

She lets her hand fall from the pommel.

His bedroll shifts and Amaya glances at the forest around them before standing and taking hesitant steps towards him. The eldest of Sarai's sons is fast asleep, eyebrows knitted and his body shifts with nightmares.

Amaya's hand hovers above his shoulder.

With a shout, Callum sits straight up. Amaya starts but doesn't pull back, kneeling by his side. Callum's breath is fast in his chest, eyes wide with panic as he scrambles to find himself among his surroundings.

Without thinking, Amaya pulls him into her arms.

She can feel him sobbing into her shoulder. She's taken off the smaller parts of her armor, knowing they're far enough into the dense woods that if anyone was coming, she would see them long before they reached their makeshift camp.

Knowing Callum's crying is muted as to not wake his brother, Amaya threads her fingers through his hair. He hasn't held her like this since he was a kid, since she would come back from their borders with smoking armor and new scratches on her face and he would run to her.

Without fail, she would catch him every time. No matter how weary she was.

Callum trusts her implicitly to catch him and she knows she would never break that promise, even at the opposite end of a sword. She'll give her life for these boys.

 _Got you,_ she mouths, knowing he can feel the vibrations in her throat, _I got you._

She doesn't know how long they stay like that.

Callum pulls back when Ezran starts to stir.

The sun is almost fully raised in the forest's horizon and Amaya watches as he scrubs at his flushed cheeks. She knows that despite Callum barely being older than Ezran - four years isn't as much as Callum thinks it is - that he's holding it together for his little brother.

Amaya remembers Ezran's birth. It was early in the spring morning when Sarai's grip on her hand lessened and Amaya looked down the bed to see one of the nursemaids holding a squirming bundle.

Harrow's mouth had stretched wide, either in a smile or in a cry. Amaya didn't know. She had clutched Sarai's hand, mopping the sweat off her forehead and signing  _you did it_  over and over into her palm. Her sister's smile had been exhausted and she had squeezed Amaya's hand weakly.

"Callum," Sarai had said. Amaya had nodded, kissed her older sister's forehead and went to collect the little boy.

Callum was outside the royal chamber, swinging his feet absentmindedly. Amaya wasn't surprised to see the piece of charcoal in his head, shaggy head of light brown hair hanging over his sketchbook.

She knelt by his side, smiling, as Callum looked up.

 _A brother,_  Amaya had mouthed and Callum's face lit up.

While Callum had been studiously learning sign language, she knew his chubby fingers still struggled with some letters. Callum had closed his sketchbook then, taken her outstretched hand. Amaya smiled down at him, the charcoal rubbing off from his fingers onto hers and had pulled out a handkerchief.

Callum had frozen in the doorway.

Amaya drew him back. She knew how he clammed up around other people; the shy little step-prince, born a bastard. Amaya could read lips.

She'd seen the rumors.

 _I'm going to fight the Crown Guard,_ Amaya had informed Sarai once, to her sister's anguish. _The way they talk about you and your son is unacceptable._

Ever unconcerned with her own reputation, Sarai had challenged the Captain of the Crown Guard to a duel that morning. Standing tall and calm in front of the entire assembly, she had ground his face into the dirt and declared that anyone that said anything against her son would be banished from Katolis. She was a Queen, yes, but she was a Captain first and foremost, a Noble Lady of a small House.

Sarai had caught the movement and turned, motioned for Callum to approach.

"Come meet your brother," Sarai had said, exhaustion etched into her every movement. She had been propped up on pillows, the bundle in her arms fretted over by Harrow.

Amaya had put her hand on Callum's shoulder, nodding, and the little boy had run over and climbed on top of the blanket. She remembers leaning against the doorframe, watching the little family as the rest of the room hustled about, cleaning up and spreading the good news.

Harrow had an heir to the Katolis throne.

But that hadn't mattered to Amaya. She could still see his little face, cheeks plump with lingering baby fat smiling wide as he held his baby brother for the first time.

Maybe it's because she sees something in Callum she saw in herself; that spark of determination despite what people said. Maybe it was because she was deaf and he was a bastard, maybe it was because she once enjoyed dragging a piece of charcoal over parchment until under her fingernails was blackened.

Gren is the first to peek his head out of his bedroll.

Amaya turns, snorts at the way his strawberry hair sticks up at the ends from sleep. She turns, making sure Callum is still behind her, signing _good morning_ to her Lieutenant before pointing to Ezran and signing  _up. We need to start moving._

He nods, giving her a thumbs up before gently laying a hand on Ezran's shoulder. Knowing her youngest nephew is in good hands, Amaya stands and offers her hand to Callum.

_Ride with me?_

Callum nods, takes her hand.

When he stands, Amaya watches the way his spine bends with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Stealing a glance at Gren, who's just rousing a very sleepy Ezran with bedhead worse than the latter, she pulls Callum into one more hug.

He pulls back first this time, smiling.

_Thank you._

Amaya nods, bowing her head as she touches her fist to her heart. Callum's smile could light up a dark chamber. Amaya can't help the warmth in her breastbone when Callum greets his brother with an unwavering smile.

They pack in what Amaya assumes is silence. Ezran is still yawning when they roll up their bedrolls and stow them in the saddlebags, when Amaya re-sheathes her sword and clicks her shield into place on her back and Gren watches closely. Something's happened, he knows - even now he's in the dark about what exactly they're doing. 

He trusts her, though, with his life and breath.

Gren glances at her over breakfast of whatever they have in rations that Sarai packed and without signing a word, Amaya nods. Ever faithful and able to read her every motion, Gren nods in understanding.

She knows what they're doing.

Amaya will tell him in her own time. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! sorry, not a huge author's note, i just got home from zumba and ready to throw myself into an ice bath with no mercy. from now on, updates will be on mondays, please note! it's just easier for me this way :)

_"Your mission will be....different. Can I trust you to do what needs to be done?"_

_She nods, determined. "Yes."_

_This has been planned for months and she will not let down her group. As is everything, it is bigger than herself and the man in front of her nods._

_"Good."_

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

Amaya doesn't have to look over to know the question's been posed again.

She can see Ezran's lips from her peripheral. The look of slight annoyance but followed by quick patience - an expression she's quite used to - on Gren's face tells her enough, the long lines around his mouth.

She chuckles as Callum laughs quietly too in front of her on the horse, his body vibrating against her armor. 

Logically, she knows she can't keep her armor on forever. That the horse will grow weary carrying both a growing boy and a woman in full armor and her shield. Plus whatever's in their packs. Quietly she hopes that they'll make it to the outskirts of some town before the horses tire. 

Without them, their progress will slow to a snail's pace. 

Gren knows it too. He shoots her a look that she catches from the corner of her eye when the mare beneath her breathes heavily going up a hill, despite their leisurely pace.

Illogically, she finds herself holding onto the armor. They're a day and a half's ride from the castle, in the less-dense parts of the forest. Anyone coming they would see from a mile away and they're utterly alone.

Gren doesn't swivel at every sound. They're only surrounded by the sounds of the trees - the wind, the skittering squirrels.

Still, she keeps her armor on, sword sheathed and shield at the ready. 

Amaya wishes they could go faster. 

They shouldn't have stopped for so long that morning, they should have kept going. She wants to put as much space between them and the castle - and whatever threats there may be - as quickly as she can. 

The trip is silent. 

Gren's horse pulls up beside her as they trod onto a wider path. _We're coming to a town,_ he signs, _we should lose the armor and get into plainclothes._  

They both know the panic that two Crown Guard soldiers will cause if they ride into town like this. 

 _We can't be recognized,_ Amaya agrees. 

As they approach the bend that will lead into the marketplace - Amaya can smell the food, can feel the vibrations of people walking around on stone and the ring of bells - she pulls their horses off the path. 

Ezran looks excited. "Are we going into town?" 

Gren nods, sliding off his saddle to then lift the prince after him. Ezran smiles, turning to Callum, eyes lighting up. Amaya helps the older prince down as well and turns to Gren. 

 _We'll take turns changing. You first. Stow your armor in the saddlebags and leave whatever you can. We travel light and fast._  

A single fist to Gren's breastplate tells her he's heard and Amaya turns away. 

With the help of the princes, they empty the packs of the horses of their extra plain clothes and lighter, hooded cloaks. Amaya counts their remaining food. There's at least a week's worth of rations in the saddlebags and she smiles to herself. 

Her older is nothing if not always prepared.

Gren appears to her right. His plainclothes are simple - nothing more than the same blue tunic that he wears beneath his armor with black trousers tucked into his boots. 

He nods and takes over unpacking and rearranging their things. 

She can feel Callum's eyes on her as she walks away. 

Amaya changes quickly behind a tree not far from their resting place. She unlatches her armor in precise, sure movements, setting each piece into the grass and switching her plain black underthings for whatever she shoved in her pack. It isn't hard to find where Gren has stashed his own armor. It's oddly difficult to lay aside pieces of her gold and blue armor into the leafy bushes, to decide what she can and cannot conceal underneath her clothing and cloak, what will fit into their saddlebags. 

Gren looks up when she emerges, the most integral parts of her armor in her arms. She has left behind her greaves, braceplates, tassets and mournfully, her shield.

There is no place to hide a shield this large. 

She only keeps her gauntlets and breastplate, a single stop rib and pauldron. From the look of Gren's armor when she hid the metal in the bushes, he did the same. 

Her plainclothes are almost exactly the same except she's in a loose charcoal tunic and deep blue skirt that cuts across her figure, exposing the upper part of her left leg. She's left on her tight black trousers. The rest of her armor is hidden in a bush. 

They're far enough in the woods that Amaya is confident that their armor won't be found. At least - until they come back for it. 

Amaya is confident they'll be back this way. In a few days, they'll receive word from the castle that the threat was false or that it was illuminated and they'll turn around. They'll dig up their armor and ride back through the gates and Amaya will watch Ezran and Callum come home to their parents. 

She refuses to believe anything else. 

 _Ready?_  

She nods, arranging her sword to fit into the long side of the skirt. _Find anything interesting?_  

 _We enough rations for the next week if we're careful,_ Gren signs as Callum takes the pieces of her armor she can't hide beneath her lighter cloak. Amaya watches him pack them lovingly into the saddlebags, touches light. _We also have this. We'll have to thank the Queen next time we see her._  

Amaya catches the pouch he tosses easily. It's heavy in her hand, small, and she opens it. The contents make her eyebrows raise in surprise. 

 _How much is this?_  

Gren shrugs. _About thirty pounds, give or take._  

 _At least we have resources if we need more extensive food or supplies,_  she signs with one hand before tossing the pouch back. Gren catches it deftly.  

She watches how his face stretches into a smile. 

 _Nice outfit, by the way._  

Amaya rolls her eyes. _Up, Commander. Its purpose is for concealment,_ she signs before moving aside the layers to show him her sword's sheath. _Don't grow used to it._  

Gren's laugh, she imagines, is hearty. She watches the way his head is thrown back as his lips move rambunctiously and the movement of his throat with the sounds. 

She looks away. 

Callum is watching her. 

She regards him. _Callum? What's wrong?_  

"Won't we be recognized?" 

Amaya's mind snags on the movement of his lips and her eyebrows furrow. She hadn't thought of that. _Did your mother pack any plainclothes?_  

 _I don't think so,_ Callum signs back. Amaya doesn't mention how he's switching from signing to talking aloud at an odd interval. _I'll check, though._  

Amaya nods, turning. Gren's still on the ground, fiery hair tousled by the soft wind that's pushing her own dark fringe into her eyes. She jerks her head at Callum, holding out her hand. He takes it and she hoists him to his feet. Gren dusts off his pants, bends to grab the packs off the ground. 

Amaya spots Ezran a little ways away, bent over a leaf he seems to be showing Bait. The glowtoad plays along for a minute or two before his tongue darts out of his mouth and he swallows the leaf whole. 

As Gren chuckles beside her, Callum appears from the other side of the mare. _Nothing,_  he signs. Amaya nods. 

 _I knew that we would need more supplies,_ she signs before turning to Gren. _We have cloaks for the boys to wear now but port is still four days away at the soonest by our time and the map. We'll have to get them some plain clothes._  

He seems to think for a second. _Should I go into town first and get the princes what they need?_  

 _No, we can't risk drawing attention to ourselves. The path goes right through town and leads to the port. We don't stray unless we need to._  

Gren nods. _Is the armor well-hidden?_  

 _Mine is,_ she teases with a smile. _I don't know about yours._  

The unimpressed look he shoots her makes her smile wider and for a split second, with Ezran laughing at something Callum's said and Gren's eyes lighting up with laughter, Amaya forgets about everything.It all comes crashing back a second later and she sobers. 

Her nephews are in danger, her sister and brother-in-law under death threats. 

Assassins. 

She's _laughing_. 

Gren notices the way her mouth drops suddenly. _Amaya? Are you alright?_  

 _Fine,_ she signs sharply and swings herself onto her horse. _We need to get moving._  

For a moment, he regards her. Although Amaya looks away, she knows her interpreter doesn't need to see her face to read her wholly and completely. It's literally his job description. 

She flattens her lips over two fingers. Callum and Ezran look over. 

 _We need to get moving,_  she repeats and Callum nods.

They're off.

* * *

"Your Highness."

Harrow doesn't move from the window. There is an exasperated sigh and the clicking of a walking stick that he recognizes well. It halts a few feet from his vigil. "Harrow, you're stewing, I know you." 

"I asked to be alone," he says, not completely unkindly but with force. 

There's a humorless chuckle.

"I've never been good at following orders and the Queen is requesting your presence in your chambers. It has to do with the disappearance of -" 

The voice trails off. Harrow's fists clench behind his back and he turns just enough to see Viren's grimace.

"- my sons," Harrow finishes.

Viren's frown deepens as he cringes. 

"Yes, the...princes," Viren says awkwardly before clearing his throat. "Rest assured, both Claudia and I are searching for ways to track down whatever happened to them. We will bring them and the General home." 

Harrow sighs, dropping his head to his chest. In the early morning sunlight, the dark sepia of his skin all but glows, the circlet on his forehead sparkling. 

Yet, the crown has aged him. 

Viren can see it in the lines around his eyes, the way his spine seems to sag with the physical and metaphorical weight of the circlet on his head. He can see it in Sarai too, especially with the disappearance of the princes two days ago. 

"So you sent General Amaya after them?" 

He turns, hand massaging the skin around his eyes. "Yes?" 

There's suspicion dripping from Viren's voice and apprehension in Harrow's. 

"It's nothing," Viren says quickly, burying whatever was in his voice that made Harrow turn around. His best friend is on edge right now, an assassination plot hanging over his head and the knowledge that both his sons are gone. 

Well. His biological son and step-son. 

Viren bows. "I did not mean to upset you, Your Highness. I only meant to bring you a message." 

"I know," Harrow sighs heavily as he turns fully. "I apologize for my irritable tone. Thank you for all your help, Viren. It's invaluable to me." 

Viren just inclines his head and Harrow turns back to the window. He listens to the receding sound of Viren's cane against the stone, looks back out of the glass. 

It's a full moon tonight. 

Harrow can only hope the princes are far away from the castle. Sarai had entrusted their safety to her sister - Harrow has never doubted General Amaya before. He's seen her on the battlefield, he's seen her in and out of armor. While his wife has an iron fist and a kind heart, Amaya is a sunfire-forged blade, all edges. Sarai has told him briefly of their childhood, of Amaya standing by her side as she had a bastard son, the Lady of a Noble House and up-in-coming Captain of the Crown Guard. 

Sarai has told him of how she stood by Amaya's side as she became the first woman General of the Crown Guard, how she single-handedly taught an entire standing army sign language. 

A tactical advantage. 

He's seen her though, around his sons. Harrow has seen the way her shoulders relax when she sweeps Callum or Ezran into a bone-crushing hug, her steel-cut almond eyes softening whenever Ezran throws his head back laughing at something Bait's done or when Callum shows him her sketchbook underneath the tree in the courtyard. 

Harrow has seen her around Commander Gren. 

She's softer than she lets on. Sarai is harder than she lets on. 

King Harrow of Katolis is more exhausted than he lets on.

* * *

_It isn’t hard to track them._

_Although it’s rained hard for two days, the horse-trodden grass on the backside of the castle is easy to follow. For the first few hours, she keeps her blades drawn, hood low on her brow as she kept her gaze on the ground and ears open for any movements in the forest._

_There’s nothing._

_She doesn’t stop all through the night or the next day. Her legs ache but she continues on, thanking the Gods that the rain hasn’t washed away the path._

_According to their leak, there’s two soldiers with the princes that she’ll have to take on, capable and cunning. While she doesn’t know the soldiers, she hopes they’re just foot soldiers._

_Their group hadn’t seen anything out of place when they scouted the castle in the day before the princes went missing._

_On her left hand, the binding is ever-tight._

_On her right, she knows it will fall soon._

_Two days._

_The height of the moon’s power._

_When they strike._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [now cross-posted on ff.net!!](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13255852/1/Where-the-Wind-s-Like-a-Whetted-Knife) and as always, inspired by [the literal best gremaya fic on the internet, waiting in the quiet by the ever-amazing eirian erisdar](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13097894/1/Waiting-in-the-Quiet)
> 
> my schedule for posting this week is shaky at best due to my packed schedule as exams approach and homework increases but! i plan to publish either a gremaya or janaya thing by this friday. feel free to come yell at me on my twitter if i don't! it would be much appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slip of the tongue - hand - and a revelation. High in the Katolis Castle, Queen Sarai writes a letter. A three-night full moon is on the horizon.

The marketplace is bursting at the seams with movement.

When the horses first trod onto the stones leading into the village, Amaya hesitates. The town square is teeming with people, tightly packed and Amaya wishes for the hundredth time they could go around.

 _It would look suspicious,_  Gren had reminded her when she brought it up back in the forest when they re-saddled their horses and set off. Amaya had frowned in thought as Callum scribbled something in his sketchbook.

She hadn't looked over his shoulder.

It's been two days.

Ezran's mouth stretches wide with excitement, eyes like dinner plates. "Look!" he cries, pointing. Gren laughs, shoulders relaxing, and Amaya watches it all.

Callum watches his aunt's hands flex around the reins as she leads them into town.

The smell of the marketplace makes his stomach grumble and mouth water. Merchants line the streets with tables and tents, yelling out their wares.

Amaya proceeds carefully, head held high and shoulders straight but still enough to be taken as a peasant traveler, despite her training and noble upbringing. Callum is impressed.

Gren follows closely behind and Callum finds himself glancing back at his younger brother on the other horse often. The cloak Amaya had draped around his shoulders is stifling, despite the thin fabric. It's obviously made for warmer weather.

He's sweating like a sinner in church.

The afternoon sun is blazing high in the sky by the time they make it to the center of town. Callum watches every movement steadily and suspiciously.

_Relax. We're just passing through. It's just a town._

Callum almost jumps out of his skin when Amaya's fingers appear in front of his face. He blinks.

_It looks a lot smaller from the outside._

He can feel his aunt's huff of silent laughter against his back. _We'll be out soon enough. Do you want to switch horses once we reach the port?_

 _No,_ Callum signs back. _Ezran's having a lot of fun with Gren._

They both look over at the other horse, where Gren is bent low to talk in Ezran's ear. The noise in the marketplace makes it impossible for Callum to talk to Ezran and Gren, even if he wanted to. Ezran laughs at something Gren's said and points to some spot in the teeming crowd. Bait, as always, looks dubiously grumpy. 

 _Gren's always had a soft spot for you boys,_ Amaya signs quickly. _Don't tell him I told you, though. He likes to think you don't know._

Callum chuckles but it tampers out. She frowns.

_Callum? Something wrong?_

_Have we received word from the castle yet?_

There's a foul taste in Amaya's mouth. The parchment roll in the bag at her hip seems to burn when it brushes against her skirts when the mare trods over a broken cobblestone.

Amaya can't lie to him. _No. I'm sure we'll receive word soon, though. Don't worry._

_How would they reach us?_

Callum is insistent and Amaya sighs. They make it through the densest part of the towns square and the masses seem to die out the further down the main street they get.

 _Your father would send word to the port town we're heading to,_ Amaya signs. _At least in the letter, your mother said-_

She freezes, realizing her mistake too late. Her hands stutter but she can't take back what she's said.

_Letter?_

Amaya winces, squeezes the reigns between her palms. _Later, Callum._

_What letter Aunt Amaya?_

The sharp movement of Callum's fingers and the furrow of his eyebrows, when he twists on the saddle to look at her, tells Amaya this isn't something he'll let go.

He's always taken after his mother, after all.

 _Later,_  she promises sternly. Her eyes soften a moment later.

Callum looks taken aback at her forceful command but turns back, seemingly satisfied. She takes a deep breath, loosening the reins in her grasp and motioning Gren to catch up with her.

Within a moment, he's there. She signs quickly.

_We'll stop for the night at the edge of town. There's something I have to show Callum. If Ezran wants, you can take him into the market for a bit._

Gren nods, but between his eyebrows creases. _Any reason?_

 _Slip of the tongue,_ she signs with an ironic smile. Gren snorts but she knows by the uneasiness on his face that it's humorless.

All too soon, they reach the edge of the small town.

Callum’s fingers are nervous where they play with the strap of his sketchbook and Amaya tilts her head back, hand shading her eyes. The sun is starting its descent into the horizon and she doesn’t doubt that night will start to fall soon.

Gren and her lock eyes. Gren nods.

He dismounts his horse, holding out his arms for Ezran. The crown prince shakes his head, dismounting himself. Amaya watches the movement of his mouth.

“Why are we stopping?”

“We need some supplies,” Gren lies. His face doesn’t give away his misgivings. “Would you like to come, Ezran?”

Ezran’s face lights up. “I would love to! Can Callum come too?”

Amaya and Callum make eye contact. Callum tears his eyes away, plastering on a smile despite the lines around his eyes, so similar to Sarai that Amaya’s chest aches.

“Go ahead, Ez. I’ll help Aunt Amaya set up camp.”

Ezran, for his age, can be infuriatingly perceptive. Amaya knows he sees the lines around Callum’s eyes, the fingers that worry at his already-worn sketchbook strap. She sees the concern that flashes across Ezran’s face for a moment.

“You sure?”

Callum nods, eyes still pinched. “Yeah. Have fun.”

With one last lingering look at his older brother, Ezran follows Gren back into town. From here, Callum can still hear the instruments, the laughing of the dancers in the square as they twirled around, clapping their hands.

“Aunt Amaya?”

Her back is to him, hands digging around in the saddlebags of her mare. Callum sighs as she pulls one of the bedrolls from the packs, turns, her skirt fluttering enough in the wind that he catches a glance of her sword beneath. He comes into her peripheral.

_Aunt Amaya._

She refuses to meet his eye. _Later. We need firewood. Night is approaching._

Callum makes a sound of frustration, shoving his hands into his pockets. With a grumble, he turns heel and stalks for the forest, back bent against the wind.

Solemnly, Amaya watches him go.

The aunt and General in her screams for her to follow him, make sure he’s safe. The girl in her soothes for her to stay because she understands. They both need time and space. In her pocket, the letter is heavy with the knowledge that she’s hesitant to share.

He’s just a boy, after all.

Stewing does no good. With a frown, Amaya turns back to the horse, throws the bedroll in her hand on the ground. Pulls out another.

Despite the leafy branches above him, the sun burns hot and bright into his neck. Callum scowls, kicking at a rock before bending to pick up another stick. “I’m not a kid anymore,” he mumbles indignantly. “Why didn’t she just tell me?! I can take it!”

The bushes to his right rustle and he freezes. The wind isn’t strong enough to make such a racket, he hasn’t seen an animal despite traveling miles in the forest –

The moment passes.

He releases a harsh, pent-up breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in.

“Stupid,” he chides himself. “Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ – nothing’s there! It’s just the wind. This is why no one tells you anything, idiot.”

He turns back to camp, frowning.

The bush rustles again.

When he glances back, there’s nothing again. He rolls his eyes, picks up a stick he’s missed, and heads back in the direction he came. By the time the clearing comes back into view, the sun is disappearing behind the trees overhead and Amaya is sitting on a stone, sharpening her sword with a whetstone.

Callum trods back, glad that while they’re not very far from the main road and in a clearing, it’s just hidden enough from any travelers passing by. He knows the questions that would be raised if anyone saw Amaya with her sword out.

He flinches at the rough sound of the stone against the side of the blade and drops the sticks in the middle of the stone circle Amaya has marked at.

Amaya doesn’t flinch. She keeps her eyes on her sword and it’s only then that Callum sees the parchment roll sticking out of the pocket on her hip, the tremor in her hands.

Her eyes slide closed when Callum’s hand stops the movement of the whetstone. If he wasn’t watching as closely as he was, Callum would’ve missed the tear that drips down Amaya’s face and onto her hand.

Neither one moves to wipe it away.

“Please,” Callum says as Amaya looks up. He knows she can read his lips. “Aunt Amaya, please. What’s going on?”

Although he watches her face closely, there’s no change in her features. If he hadn’t seen the tear, he knows he would’ve thought his aunt was fine.

He doesn’t blink. There’s a single crack in the chink of Amaya’s armor.

Without signing a word, Amaya sets down her whetstone and reaches for the parchment roll. It snags slightly on the fabric of her skirt and Callum watches the unsteady breath she takes when her fingers brush it.

She doesn’t pull back, though.

Amaya’s eyes meet his. Callum refuses to look away, even as Amaya does, pursing her lips together as she holds out the roll.

She doesn’t raise her hands to say anything.

Callum takes it.

His heart beats wild and fast in his chest, like a jackrabbit. His mouth feels dry all of a sudden and he gulps, all but collapsing in the dirt. The parchment roll, so unassuming, holds the answers to all the questions he’s had burned in his chest for two days.

He doesn’t know if he’s ready to learn the truth.

Is it better to stay in the dark like Ezran, or have the answer to his questions? Callum doesn’t know and for a fleeting moment, wishes he never asked to see the letter.

He unravels it anyways, Amaya’s gaze burning into him.

Sarai’s handwriting is loopy and quick, one he could recognize anywhere. It’s in the front of his sketchbook, alongside Harrow’s.

Callum takes a stuttering deep breath as he unfurls the first page. There is no going back now.

* * *

 

_Sister,_

_There are Moonshadow Elves gathering at the border. Scouts have reported their presence for months but we received word they were moving._

_Assassins are coming._

_It is evident who they are after – both the King and I are aware of the threat against his life. It’s been no secret since Last Winter’s turn but we fear it will continue from there. They are coming for Ezran._

_They will not find him._

_If you have this, you have heard my plea. As I write this, Harrow is hand-picking a guard to protect him. I think we both quietly know it will not do much good – the Moonshadow Elves will strike when they are at their mightiest. The Full Moon is coming, Amaya. We don’t have any more time for dallying._

_Go directly to the stables after you’ve chosen your companion. I know you, sister. You’ll choose Gren. He is a fine choice, I trust you both with my life, my boys. We will escort the boys from their chamber._

_Be hasty, sister._

_We do not have much time but there is much to do._

_You will ride for far East, for Port. Cross the border if you must but stay alert and safe. I have already packed your bags, secured you enough supplies for whatever you need. Return to your chambers, grab extra clothing. You know as well as I that a Crown Guard General riding into whatever towns you choose to ride into will not take your sight with ease, will create panic._

_I know what you are thinking. Why aren’t the King and I running as well, stealing away in the night as you are?_

_I only wish we could. If the Moonshadow Elves do make it past our defenses – and I suspect they will – then who knows the damage they could do to the bystanders. Your leaving will ensure Callum and Ezran’s safety while us staying will ensure the town’s._

_I am their mother, but I am also Queen._

_If I die, Amaya, I hope one day they will understand._

_You have always been perceptive. Inside, Harrow and I have written two other letters – one for each of the boys. But my last one is solely yours, Amaya. My sister. My companion through everything, my guard, my rock through the times when I was only a Commander of the Crown Guard with a bastard son sired by a nameless man._

_I thank you for that._

_At the end of your letter there is a note. This is for Gren._

_I ask you give it to him without reading it. There are things I never said to him that I wish to tell him now, even if it is only through a letter. It is entirely up to his person if he wishes to tell you._

_I love you, Amaya. It is only fitting that my possible last act as Queen and their mother is a declaration of my love to you by entrusting you with the safety of my sons. I beg of you, do whatever you must to keep them alive. They are my lifeblood and heart, the reason I get up in the morning._

_Care for them as you’ve cared for me, as you care for Gren. They will be safe with you, I have no doubt._

_With love,_

_Your sister, Sarai._

* * *

 

The parchment falls from Callum’s hands as his spine bends inward, his grief folding in on itself. Amaya is there in a minute, arms coming around to hold him as she tucks his head into her breastbone and feels him weep against her skin.

The sun burns low in the sky.

In the dirt, the broken Katolis seal of the uneven towers is split perfectly down the middle.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Katolis, a full moon rises and six bindings are fastened. Five continue on. Gren and Amaya talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the glove scene is inspired by waiting in the quiet, once again the best gremaya fic out there that slays me daily. enjoy!
> 
> i can't wait for yall to see the next chapter :^) things are really starting to pick up.

_“We strike when the moon is highest.”_

_“My heart for Xadia.”_

_They echo it back. Five of six have a mission, one estranged and on their own._

_They break camp. Katolis looms in the distance and bindings are wrapped around their arms. What they are to do is clear. No matter what._

_She takes to the woods. The binding on her left hand is different – it’s up to her to complete this mission. Her right hand’s binding will come off but hers won’t._

_Not yet._

* * *

Callum doesn’t touch the roll of parchment with his name in small, looping letters. Amaya understands – she had held her breath when she broke the seal of the main letter as well. She hasn’t dared to touch her own personal letter or the small note at the end for Gren.

Speaking of Gren.

Callum’s head shoots up and Amaya follows the movement. Gren and Ezran come into view through the trees, arms full and loaded down with all kinds of things.

Supplies and by the smell, food.

Amaya watches Callum perk up and meet his brother halfway. She doesn’t miss how Gren seems to study Callum’s face carefully as he takes the supplies from his arms and busies herself with stoking the small fire in the middle of the circle of bedrolls until her Lieutenant Commander sits down beside her.

 _Please tell me you didn’t spend it all on food,_  Amaya signs.

Gren chuckles as he crosses his legs in front of him. _You wound me. No, we needed clothing for the boys. I saw your whetstone was looking a little worn and got you these._

He holds out his hands and Amaya startles. She hadn’t noticed he still had things in his arms.

In his hand is a new whetstone, edges sharp and a leather brace. She picks it up hesitatingly, eyeing him and turns the brace over in her palms. Amaya can feel his gaze on her.

 _You didn’t have to,_  she signs, setting down the whetstone but Gren’s hands capture hers.

 _Just accept them,_ he replies before rolling his eyes but there’s that soft smile on his face that Amaya secretly adores. _I know you’ve used your whetstone down to the last piece._

With a sheepish smile, Amaya pulls her whetstone out and Gren’s look is knowing. She shoots him a scowl that holds no weight and they both know it.

 _Thank you,_  she signs and Gren nods.

He gets up shortly after to help the boys pack the supplies they won’t need until they move out in the morning and Amaya breathes in the smell of her closest companion and voice.

Unlike her, Gren is not a warrior. Despite his title, he carries only a knife in his boot and prefers diplomacy over the sharp edge of a knife. Amaya respects that – she has always been quick to thrust and ask questions later.

Night falls quickly after that. Gren all but forces her into her bedroll and signs that he’ll take the watch tonight. With a quick glance at the two sleeping princes, Amaya slides into her bedroll and stares at the fire.

Sleep, as usual, alludes her.

She doesn’t know if the bush in the distance moves but her eyes narrow in on the movement, searching, her hand coming to her side, the dagger at her hip –

There’s a tap on her shoulder and she jolts. Gren’s hands fly.

_I didn’t mean to frighten you, General. My apologies._

She waves him off, sits up in her bedroll and scrubs her hands down her face. When she glances at the bush again, it’s swallowed by darkness. She brushes off the feeling in her breastbone. The night is thick and sable around them; Amaya watches the wind rustle the leaves of the bushes around the clearing they’re tucked into before turning her gaze back to the fire and her companion.

 _No worries,_ she signs. _I couldn’t sleep anyway._

Gren nods and for a bit, they just stare into the fire together. Sometime during their conversation, Gren scooted closer on the small rock he’s perched on and despite his obvious height over her, their shoulders almost brush.

Amaya swears she can feel the warmth that seems to radiate off him at all times through the thin material of her shift but shakes it off. She catches the movement of Gren’s hands in her peripheral and turns.

_I take Callum didn’t take it well._

At the mention of her nephew’s name, Amaya turns to look at the boy in question. He’s facing away from them but towards his brother, mop of brown hair barely peeking out of his bedroll. In sleep, Amaya notes how much softer his face looks.

He looks like Sarai.

Her heart jolts for a second and she signs back without taking her eyes off him. _He took it as well as expected. He didn’t open his letter, though._

_His letter?_

_Yes,_ Amaya responds. _Sarai wrote letters for both of them. He read the main one that covered the general reason we’re out here but asked I didn’t give him the letter addressed to him._

_And Ezran?_

Her eyes move to her youngest nephew. While Callum bears the most resemblance to his mother, Ezran takes after his father in more ways than one, but Amaya can see the bits of Sarai that peek through. While his coloring and hair are Harrow’s, she can see the kindness in his eyes that both boys inherited from their mother.

She breathes out. _I do not know how to tell him._

Amaya imagines that if she could hear Gren’s words, they would be soft, encouraging. Offering support.

_Does Ezran know about his letter?_

_No,_ Amaya reacts fiercely. _Sarai said to give the boys their letters in the event of her passing. I hope he never sees the inside of that parchment._

Gren’s hands are still for a while. Amaya goes back to watching the fire, the glowing embers in the bottom growing into the swirling mass of reds and oranges. The night air is cool – not so much it chills her but it nips enough at her nose that the fire is much appreciated.

There's a movement of his fingers in her peripheral. She turns, eyebrows furrowing. _Repeat?_

 _May I?_   Gren signs again.

His eyes dance with the reflection of the fire and for the not the first time, Amaya notices the golden flecks there. She tears her eyes away, inclines her head. The parchment almost burns when she touches it and she hands it over.

Gren unravels it, holds it an angle so the light of the fire will illuminate the words. Amaya tells herself that she watches his face closely so she can see his reaction – he’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. She knows his expressions like the back of her hand.

She knows Gren like the back of her hand.

He reaches the end of the letter with a crease between his eyebrows. Amaya leans forward slightly, studies his face in the firelight but despite the knowledge of what’s in the ink, she sees nothing telling in his face.

Gren rolls the parchment back up and hands it to her. Cautiously, she takes it. _Gren?_

He doesn’t look at her. She taps his knees, fingers moving in the air.

_I haven’t opened mine but if you wish to see your note-_

Gren’s already shaking his head, reaching out to cover her freezing hands with his gloved ones. _No,_ he signs after hers have stopped moving. _It’s your letter, Amaya. If you wish for me to see it after you do, then I will. Not a moment sooner._

Amaya nods and looks down at where one of his hands overlaps both of hers.

Gren looks down too, then, and pulls his hands back quickly. Sorrowfully, Amaya thinks for a moment that she misses his warmth.

She doesn’t catch what Gren is doing until he’s pushing his hands into hers. Amaya looks down and shakes her head, pushing her arms back towards him. _I’m not taking your gloves, Gren. My hands are fine._

Her Lieutenant pins her with a knowing look and pushes his hands back. The gloves are leather and fur-lined, fine, from Gren’s hometown. She knows it’s one of the only pieces of his home he has left.

_Take them, Amaya. I know yours fell apart before we left._

She shakes her head again. _You need them. I don’t. They’re yours, your mothers made them for you._

 _My mothers would skin me if I let my General’s hands freeze,_  he signs back and wraps her freezing hands around the gloves. Because he’s taller than her, his hands encompass her fully, the palms warm from the fire and the gloves she refuses to take.

 _They sound wise,_  Amaya smiles and slides her hands into the gloves.

They’re still warm from Gren’s hands and almost without realizing it, she brings her hands to her face. The lining of the gloves is fur that kisses her fingers like a lover brushes her nose and she doesn’t realize the numbness of her nose until the gloves cover her face.

Gren chuckles and she shoots him a playful glare.

_I thought you weren’t cold._

_Shut up,_  she mouths between her palms before covering her face again. Gren’s shoulder shake with laughter and hers do, too, and for a moment it’s just them. For a moment she can imagine they’re back at the Castle, by the fires on the battlements, taking a breather by the warmth and sharing their day over bland rations.

For a moment she can imagine her sister is safe, her nephews and princes asleep in their beds. But all too soon and all too awfully, reality comes crashing down and she sobers.

Gren catches it. He’s always been able to read her like an open book. _They’ll be fine, Amaya. Your sister and her husband are strong._

Amaya takes a shaky breath, air squeezed from her lungs with the whiplash of her emotions and the severity of the situation they’re in.

_What if I can’t protect them. What if I do everything to protect them and we return home to a kingdom without a queen or king._

_Hey,_ Gren signs before taking her hands. Amaya notices the tears that slide down her cheeks at seemingly their own accord and finds there’s no need to wipe them away.

 _You are their aunt,_ Gren mouths so he can keep his hands firmly around hers. Amaya watches the way his lips move in the firelight. _You will protect them no matter what. I know it. You are strong like your sister, you are the General of the Standing Battalion and Commander of the Crown Guard. You are fierce and loyal and wise. They’re safe with you._

Amaya thinks she chokes on a wordless, quiet sob. The vibrations resonate deep in her breastbone and she closes her eyes against the onslaught of tears that burn at her eyes. She doesn’t see how Gren’s eyes widen with panic for a moment but sink into a softness she wouldn’t understand.

She doesn’t see how Gren slides off the rock to kneel in the patchy grass by her bedroll but feels his hands come to her arms and slowly pull her into his arms.

Dimly, as Amaya hugs him tighter and feels the beat of his heart through the thin material of his shift, her palm on his shoulder blades, she knows she could not do this without him.

She is General of the Crown Guard, the second daughter of the Noble House of Abbott. She is sister of the Queen of Katolis, sister-in-law to the King, aunt to their sons. She is deaf and the most formidable weapon on the battlefield. Her shield and sword and fists have felled monsters of all sizes.

Yet Gren sees through all that. Her oldest friend and closest companion, her voice.

Gren can see the chinks in her armor. The sleepless nights, the circles beneath her eyes, when her hand trembles on her blade’s hilt because her orders are not her will. He has split open her chest with his smile, nested his kind eyes and willing heart in her ribs, his stubbornness and love for his country and her nephews burrowing deep into her breastbone.

She lets him.

When they pull back, there’s the ghost of something across her forehead, but Amaya isn’t quick enough to open her eyes to figure out what it is – her hair? the wind? – but Gren’s face doesn’t give away anything when she signs goodnight and tries to force him into his own bedroll.

 _Sleep,_ Gren signs. _We will move out in the morning. Sleep, Amaya. I will be fine and so will your boys._

Amaya shoots a glance at the sleeping princes. Sometime during Gren and her’s conversation, they’re unconsciously shifted closer to each other. Amaya thinks to Sarai’s off-handed remark about the boy’s maids frequently finding them in the same bed, curled around the other, holding close.

She looks back to her Commander and Lieutenant. _Wake me at first light,_ she instructs forcefully as she shifts to slide back into her bedroll.

Gren’s eyes follow her the entire time as he settles back onto his rock, brushing the loose dirt from the knees of his trousers.

_Yes, General._

Amaya doesn’t know how long she stares at the fire before the tempting and fleeting anchor of sleep pulls at her eyes. The last thing she sees before she drifts off is Gren reaching into the pack by his side and lifting out a piece of parchment.

She thinks he accompanies it with a piece of charcoal, his dagger from his boot stuck into the ground by his hip as she gives into the pull.

Across the firepit, Callum snuggles deeper into his bedroll and smiles to himself.

There’s a side of his aunt he’s never seen before – a side that’s softer and more rounded. Aunt Amaya has always been an unwavering pillar and though he’s seen the adoration in her eyes when he catches her looking at him or Ezran when their sights are turned elsewhere, he’s never seen the look in her eyes as she signed with Gren, thinking them unwatched.

If Gren notices him when he spares a glance at his aunt’s right-hand-man, he doesn’t say anything the morning after. Despite Amaya’s orders, he lets his superior officer sleep until the sun has crept far past the treeline and Ezran is already wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Over a breakfast of bland oatmeal cooked in a pan over the fire and swallowed down with stale-tasting water from the waterskin, Callum observes the looks that pass between his steel-laced aunt and her kind-hearted interpreter.

As Ezran makes a sound of muted disgust when the oatmeal slides off his spoon with a wet plop and back into his bowl, Callum thinks quietly to himself that he can’t remember a time that Gren wasn’t at Amaya’s side, directly to her left two steps and one behind. He can’t remember a time where he wasn’t in the adjourning room to Amaya’s chamber, when his elbows didn’t brush Amaya’s at the breakfast table when Ezran snuck jelly tarts under the table to Bait and Harrow pretended not to notice as Sarai tousled his curls.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but they’re always inches from touching or always touching – Gren’s shoulder brushing hers, the touch of their fingertips as they pass the waterskin back and forth. Discretely, Callum eyes the camaraderie there; the comfortable easiness that comes with years and years of friendship and longing.

Gren catches his eyes over the low-burning fire as Amaya turns away and Callum doesn’t miss the way a blush burns on the Commander’s cheeks as if he’s been caught in the act of some violent deed.

He ducks his head and Callum presses his lips together to suppress a smile.

Soon they’re packed and on the road again and as Ezran talks to Bait quietly, Callum bends his head over his sketchbook and gets to work.

* * *

" _They'll be safe, Sarai. We have to believe that."_

_"I know," his wife says softly as she latches another piece of armor into place. Harrow watches the methodical movement of her fingers, reminds himself that his wife, as silly and fun-loving as she is, is a warrior. "It's Amaya I'm worried about. We're all each other has left and if we die, she takes up the mantle of their parental figure."_

_Harrow steps closer as Sarai tears up. Despite her being turned away, he can hear it in her voice. "What if they lose both of us tonight, Harrow."_

_His hand curls over her pauldron and Sarai turns. He kisses her forehead._

_"We have to believe we'll see our boys again. Amaya is strong - she and Gren can do this. We've done all we can. We have to trust her, like you have before."_

_Sarai's eyes are swimming in tears but she nods, determined. Harrow can see how she steels herself for how this evening will play out._

_There's a knock at the door._

_Without realizing it, Harrow's breath stutters. Sarai's hand slips into his as she picks up her spear, resting against the wall._

_She brings their clasped hands to her mouth, presses a kiss to his knuckles. "Let's go."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarai and Harrow talk as the full moon approaches and Viren comes up with an...interesting solution. Elsewhere, a party gathers in support while another stalks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little shorter than usual, sorry! i just couldn't figure out the deal was with this chapter but i got it out and that's what matters, right ?
> 
> i have another thing to say sorry for, though - i'm not posting a chapter next week. i'm gonna take next week off to try and rebuild the 10k i lost when my school-issued laptop crashed from a bug they had let in with the software update. i lost chapters 10-14 which amounted to almost 10k and that REALLY made it hard for me to write these past few days because i wasn't feeling inspired. 
> 
> more to come in two weeks though! i promise that chapter will be the longest of the bunch so far. depending on how i rewrite these chapters, the chapter count may change to more or less than 15 chapters, so keep an eye out! thanks for sticking by me during this :)
> 
> also, i have strep so if you would like to leave a comment, it would be much appreciated to both me and the horse pills i'm taking

“No.”

Harrow’s voice is hard and Sarai stands to his right, just as angry. Before them, an enraged Viren looks up from the two-headed snake dangling from the end of his walking cane.

“I’m sorry?”

“No,” Harrow says again. “I will not hide in the body of another. I am not a coward, Viren, unlike you. I will not let my men die if I am not willing as well. There is more at stake than my life and I will not run.”

Viren sputters and Sarai watches as he grasps onto his words. “Harrow-“

“Get it and _you_ out of my sight,” Harrow spits and turns away to say something to one of the guards. Sarai grinds the butt of her spear into the cobblestones and stares down Viren when he doesn't move.

“You heard the King.”

Sarai isn’t stupid – she hears how Viren grumbles his entire way out, can see how his knuckles turn white with anger around the basket. It’s only when the Great Hall doors slam shut behind him that she relaxes and turns to her husband.

“Harrow-“ she sees the way his shoulders slump. Sarai takes a step forward. “Harrow? What troubles you?”

“Am I making the right decision, Sarai?”

There’s lines around his mouth, his eyes. Sarai can hardly see the man she married all those years ago, more than a decade ago, eyes bright and smile wide. Ready to serve his kingdom and do everything in his power to be a servant king, the same man that chose the blindfold.

“Yes,” she says forcefully and steps forward to cup her hand around his cheek. There’s a slight stubble against her hand when she does and she knows it speaks to the sleepless nights they’ve both had these past three days. “I believe you are, Harrow, but this is your decision. I cannot make it for you.”

“Have any of the other kingdoms replied to our letters?”

Sarai’s head bobs downwards.

“No,” she says softly.

She can see how Harrow’s eyes harden. “Then this is my decision,” he all but spits but she knows it isn’t an anger at her, but the other four kingdoms. Katolis has done much for Duren, Del-Bar, Neolandia and Evenere but in their hour of need, they’re nowhere to be found. “I have no other one.”

They look out the large, arched window. The sun is starting to set in the distance.

Sarai cannot help but think of her boys and her sister. She prays they are far away – she will not delude herself for the coming hours.

She and Harrow will fall if it is the Moonshadow Elves’ goal. Their battalion and measures will not protect them.

There’s no running now. They’ve surpassed the time for that.

“I stand by you,” Sarai says softly but no less fueled with outrage with their plight. Katolis is under threat and is alone. This is a fight they will wage alone. “I stand by you and Katolis, Harrow. They will not win, not while we’re alive.”

Until our deaths, she doesn’t say. It doesn’t need to be said aloud.

Harrow nods once, his eyes softening for a moment before he turns to the guard at his soldiers. “Collect the Crow Lord. Tell him it’s urgent.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Harrow?”

Her husband looks at her, spear in hand and both the colors of Katolis and her born Noble House in her armor. “I need to send a letter.”

She’s opening her mouth but remembers her own letter to Amaya – the letters inside the letter, addresses to her boys and her sister and her sister’s companion. Sarai closes her mouth.

“You didn’t send yours with mine, did you,” she murmurs. Harrow’s head hangs slightly and the fight and command falls from his shoulders until he’s just a man. In that moment he’s simply a man; no crown, no title, no kingdom.

Family under threat and he’s helpless to do a single damned thing.

“I didn’t know what to say. What if I am too late, Sarai?”

The guard hurries off to the tower where the Crow Lord’s quarters are, her boots and armor clicking. Sarai steps closer.

“You will not be too late. It will reach them.”

“Where do I send it again?”

Sarai glances around the room but the only guards near them are talking to themselves. She leans close. “I’ve sent them due Evenere.”

Harrow looks surprised. “Does Queen Fareeda know?”

“No,” Sarai shakes her head, “but she will not turn them away. She is a mother. She will understand.”

“If you were looking for a safe house, why not Duren?”

It is no secret Duren is their closest ally, the history there. Sarai sighs.

“I think we’ve caused them enough pain, Harrow. Evenere is the most secluded and hard to get to; port will bring them to the outskirts and I trust Amaya’s opinion from then on out.”

“You believe they will get there unharmed?”

Sarai’s hand flexes around her spear shaft before she leans it against the wall to step closer and lay a hand on her husband’s armored chest. “I do. We must have faith, Harrow, or all of this is for nothing. We have nothing if we don’t believe this will work.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek. “Ezran and Callum will be safe there. We just have to keep their whereabouts hidden a little while longer.”

Obviously thinking of the long days lying about their sons disappearing, Harrow runs a hand down his face before nodding and drawing her closer.

“I love you,” he murmurs and Sarai looks up at him before resting her forehead against his.

The setting sun burns low in the sky in the background, a reminder.

“I love you too.”

Sarai thinks of that morning – of Harrow’s arm around her waist, the kiss he pressed to her shoulder when she turned in his embrace and kissed him deeply as if they weren’t closing in on their final hours and they might never see their sons again.

“Come here,” Sarai had all but begged.

She has never thought of herself as distracted but in that moment, she wished for a distraction to take her mind off of Amaya’s shaking fingers when she pulled her close four nights ago on the battlements, Callum’s tears as she hugged him for the last time.

Harrow’s eyes had seen it all.

His eyes had softened. “Alright,” he had murmured and let her pull him down atop her.

When Sarai raises herself on her tiptoes, she tries to push the thought that this kiss may be their last from her mind and closes her eyes. Harrow’s lips are warm and chapped and the feeling of coming home even as her stomach bottoms out with what’s to come.

She is a mother, a wife, a queen.

There is nothing she can do to delay their fate.

When the Great Hall doors open, Sarai is already at her husband’s side again. Spear in hand, she watches how Harrow’s hand shakes when he hands over a roll of parchment to Crow Lord and how his eyes follow the movement when Crow Lord leaves after bowing.

Soren appears. For a moment, all Sarai can see is the little boy that cried in her arms after his mother left and his father spent long hours in his office with Claudia in his lap and brushed him off whenever Soren came running.

That’s all they are anymore, aren’t they? Just craving attention.

As a Commander of the Crown Guard, Soren comes closer and bows at the waist before straightening.

“It’s time, my King. My Queen.”

Trepidation rises like a wave in Sarai’s chest as she twirls her spear once before setting it on her shoulder and nodding.

“Lead the way.”

They’re crossing the courtyard when the horns sound and Sarai whips around, spear in hand, ready to cry because she thought they had more time –

Queen Neha dismounts her horse and beside her, her wife does the same. They have not changed, the Queens of Duren, in the last nine years – there’s still a scar on Neha’s face and a limp in Annika’s walk from her lower leg she will never regain, but they’re strong and alive and here, unlike Thunder.

Sarai straightens as Soren sheathes his sword.

“You came,” Sarai whispers, more to herself than anyone else.

Queen Annika nods. “We are mothers as much as you, Queen Sarai. We could not abandon our sister kingdom in their time of need.”

Next to her, Harrow steps forward to clasp arms with Queen Neha.

“It is not the day of sacrifice for either of us.”

Both queens smirk as they remember those words, all those years ago, almost a decade - _it is our day to sacrifice_ \- how Sarai and Viren pulled them from the dirt and Viren's spell coated her spear to hone true.

Right into the heart of the King of the Dragons.

Sarai’s heart soars as she brings Queen Annika into her arms and sees the army they lead.

“What’s the plan?”

Sarai’s smile could light the heavens, Harrow thinks. Their hands find each other as hope soars like an eagle beneath their ribs, bright and true and clear.

The Queens of Duren gather close and as Harrow lays their plan during the climb to the tower they will barricade themselves into and fight from, Sarai thinks dimly that their daughter must be about Ezran’s age now.

She lets herself hope.

They are not alone. Tonight may not be their last, she may see her sister and sons again.

* * *

Oh, how she is wrong.

* * *

 

_The sun sets. She knows what’s to come._

_She’s crouching by the stream, just a mile or two from the party she’s stalking when the binding on her right hand falls off, fluttering to the ground and the metal rune making a slight ting sound._

_She rises._

_It’s her turn to fulfill her duty. Her heart for Xadia, her aim is true._

_Now is no longer the time for stealth. She has a job to do._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are followed. Stopping to restock certain supplies brings about a discovery about their journey so far. Amaya prays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS FOR CHIEFSKYE WHOSE BIRTHDAY WAS YESTERDAY AND I'M APOLOGIZING IN ADVANCE FOR THIS CHAPTER BYEEEEEEE

Halfway through day five of traveling, Amaya halts their party somewhere along the path. Since they’ve left the small town square behind, she’s seen how jumpy Gren seems to be, casting fervent glances at Callum and her and the trees as they ride.

She dismounts. Gren’s eyebrows raise. _Amaya? Something wrong?_

 _No,_ she signs, _just stretching my legs. The horses could use a break._

His mouth makes an o as he slides off his own horse, wrapping the reins around his palm. Despite the balmy morning air that hasn’t quite been burnt out by the afternoon sun, Gren’s gloves are still in the leather pouch at her hip and she wonders when she should give them back.

She slips them on, almost without thinking before winding the leather of her own horses’ reins around her hand and doesn’t miss how Gren’s eyes follow the movement.

Something flashes in his eyes but it’s gone too quick for Amaya to properly determine. She shrugs it off – a trick of the light.

_Are we near a stream?_

With one hand, Gren signs back while nodding. _Left. Water low?_

She shakes her head.

_Just curious. Do you have the map?_

As Gren ruffles through the saddlebags, their pace slowing to a walk, Amaya takes the moment to check up on her nephews. Callum is bent over his sketchbook, charcoal pencil moving quickly across the parchment while Ezran dozes in and out, head pillowed against the mare’s mane.

Bait cracks open one eye and she smiles before looking away.

 _We need to stay close to the stream,_ she signs when he passes the parchment over and she stops to unravel it against the horse’s flank. She can feel how Gren’s breath ruffles the hair on the back of her neck when he steps close to observe it.

_How far out are we?_

Amaya studies the map for a moment. _About three days from port. How are our supplies looking?_

 _Fine,_  Gren replies as he peeks into his saddlebags. _If we stay by the stream we’ll be good on our water. How are the rations?_

_Plenty._

Amaya nods curtly and catches how Gren’s eyebrows furrow. She looks straight ahead, though, mind reeling.

Tonight is a full moon.

 _Moonshadow elves,_ Sarai’s letter said.

Amaya peers at the sky, seeing how Gren studies her profile in her peripheral. She shades her eyes with her hand and almost starts when Gren’s hand wraps around her wrist. _Amaya? What’s wrong?_

 _Nothing to be concerned about,_  she signs quickly. A flash of irritation ripples Gren’s face.

It smooths before Amaya can think too much of it. _Alright,_ he signs and glances at Callum again. Amaya turns to see what he’s looking at but Gren quickly looks away and Callum’s head is still bent low.

Her eyebrows crease. She leads her horse closer to Gren’s, the reins still wrapped around her palm. _What’s wrong with Callum and you?_

 _Nothing,_  Gren signs and looks away. Amaya scowls.

Her hand shoots out to grasp Gren’s chin and force him to look at her. A quick glance at Callum and Ezran reveals they aren’t looking. She levels her glare with Gren’s face.

_Now, Commander Gren. That’s an order._

There’s a struggle on Gren’s face for a split second before he sighs. _I think we’re being followed._

Amaya knows that isn’t what he was worrying about.

She drops it for now.

_Followed? Why?_

Gren mouth twists. _I don’t have any proof but it’s a feeling. Bushes rustle when we settle for the night that isn’t from the wind. Yesterday, I felt as if someone was watching us at the campfire._

Amaya freezes.

_The campfire? Last night?_

Her Commander nods and she turns the idea over in her head before curling her fist.

_Give me a piece of parchment. I need to send a letter._

Gren roots around in one of the saddlebags before pulling out a roll of parchment and stick of charcoal. Amaya pries off his gloves still on her hands with her teeth and leads her mare closer to the stream to drink before taking the offered items.

She smooths the parchment on a flat, wide stone and begins to write.

Queen Sarai,

They have been found. We have been tailed. The moon was bright last night, was it not? Hoping for a swift ride home.

General Amaya.

Gren eyes her as she tucks it into her saddlebags but for the time being, Amaya ignores him. Despite the sun burning high in the sky, she sets down her bedroll and signs simply, _rest. We will move in the morning._

The afternoon sun burns hot and bright against her neck as she moves aside her skirts to take out her sword before running the new whetstone along it the side. Glancing at her one last time, Gren has the boys help him set up the bedrolls and drag stones to make a fire circle before letting them loose.

She makes them stay in eyesight, though.

Gren’s words should not come as a surprise – she’s felt eyes on her for days. They’re barely a day out from port that will take them to the outskirts of Evenere but now more than ever, Amaya is on edge.

She smiles when Callum looks over at her, though, before lowering her head and running the whetstone along the blade again. Ezran is talking to Bait, the glowtoad cuddled in his legs, while Gren does a lap around their campsite before nodding to her.

Despite her irritation with him at secrets, she nods back.

The princes’ safety comes before her feelings, especially now. As the afternoon sun dips low and they gather around a low-burning fire to eat rations, Amaya glances at Gren.

She cannot be mad at him. She has her own secrets she’s keeping from him. Amaya is setting down her rations, reaching out to touch his shoulder –

Gren’s head shoots up suddenly and panic is like lightning in Amaya’s chest. She whips around, heart like a jackrabbit in the middle of a chase, hand coming to the hilt of her sword beneath her skirts and sweeping out her arm to come in front of a startled Callum and Ezran in a split second.

There’s no one there.

Amaya watches how Gren’s eyes narrow in on a particular bush. She exchanges glances with Callum and Ezran, who look as confused as they are cowering behind her.

Bait is being squeezed by Ezran but doesn’t look put-out by it.

Amaya places a hand on Gren’s shoulder as she focuses on the bush he’s solely focused on. _Commander?_

 _I thought I saw something in the bushes,_ he signs without looking away, sheathing his dagger by his hip. She knows there's another in his boot. Amaya examines his face. _I thought I saw-_

Amaya’s pushing him behind her in the next moment as something crashes through the bushes. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees how Gren stumbles before unsheathing his dagger and standing in front of the princes.

Sunlight glints off twin blades, dark-green cloth, a hood, purple eyes-

Amaya barely has time to snarl before she’s parrying a blow with her sword, suddenly mournful she’s left her shield behind.

A Moonshadow elf.

The elf is clearly female and when a pass of Amaya’s sword near her shoulder as the elf ducks make her hood fall, Amaya almost gasps.

It’s a _child._

Maybe Callum's age at most, skin pink and young and purple eyes glittering. Amaya's never seen a Moonshadow elf in the sun before.

Fear runs through her like a bolt. Moonshadow elves value their stealth - if one is out during the day, it's serious.

She grits her teeth, the pommel of her sword vibrating in her hand as the elf attacks again, darting forward almost quicker than Amaya can track her. She pushes back when their swords meet, not sparing a glance behind her to make sure Gren and the boys are safe and making their escape.

The elf stumbles when Amaya shoves her sword against the twin blades and flips backward once before landing with a soundless snarl. Amaya adjusts her grip on her sword and lets the elf come to her.

And come she does.

It’s almost like a dance, Amaya thinks as their blades clash again and again, parrying around each other. She doesn’t know if the elf realizes it but Amaya’s pushing them away from the campsite where she can only hope Gren is taking the boys away.

She should’ve instructed him what to do if it came to this. Amaya curses the feeling in her breastbone that whispered that they were safe.

In the next moment she’s swinging her sword but quicker than she can blink, the elf is gone and Amaya’s sword cuts through empty air. She barely has time to breathe before there’s an agonizing pain in her ribs and she whirls on her heel as she brings a hand to her side.

She is without her shield. 

The palm comes away covered in blood and the elf smirks at her from a few feet away, flicking blood off of the right blade and lowering into a crouch.

Amaya sees the dagger coming before the elf does and hits the ground before the elf can turn fully.

The blade rips through the elf’s cheek and in the moment before the elf falls, Amaya sees the dagger continue on, white hair clinging to it. She imagines the elf cries out as she crumples to the ground and without a second though, despite the burning of her side, Amaya drags herself upwards and runs like hell.

She’s hopped on the mare with Callum at her front and rides like the devil is after her.

Hooves pound into the fresh dirt from the light rain the night before as their little party flees. Amaya crouches low, making sure Callum is covered fully by her body as they ride for port.

She can only pray they’re close enough to the town that the elf won’t follow too closely.

Out of the corner of Amaya’s eye, she can see Gren leaning over Ezran the same, eyes focused solely on the road. His hair is tussed, tunic and trousers streaked with the same dark substance on his cheek that she assumes is dirt and hopes isn’t blood.

Anger like she’s never felt before boils low in her stomach. Instead of feeling immediately and ensuring the safety of the princes, Gren had stayed behind for her, throwing his only weapon to let her make her escape.

She wants to scream.

The princes come first. Sarai had entrusted her – and by extent Gren – with the safety of the future of Katolis, her sons. Amaya had promised to do everything in her humanly power to keep them safe and alive.

Gren had jeopardized that today and for what – for _her?_

Warmth unexpectedly blossoms tinily in her breastbone at the same moment pain explodes in her side as the horses leap over a fallen log and land heavily. Amaya bites back a scream, hand coming to her side and hoping neither boy nor Gren sees.

The comforting feeling disappears with the reminder of the fight just minutes ago.

Amaya doesn’t know how to process the feeling in her chest but when her – his – glove comes away covered in more blood than before but she can’t worry about that right now, can’t think, can only see the forest in front of them and Callum’s white-knuckled hands on the reins.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Gren glance back.

Their eyes connect for a moment as Amaya feels herself start to pitch forward. Gren's eyes widen as his lips form her name in a shout and she sees cobblestones beneath her, rushing up to greet her and there's wind in her hair, the pain in her side roaring as she hits -

She thinks she blacks out.

Everything does dark and fuzzy. The pain in her side explodes into white-hot fury and she only knows she cries out because of the vibrations in her throat that hurt like a knife being shoved across her tongue.

Amaya thinks dimly there's someone above her.

She's not sure. The pain crescendos and she falls down that same rabbit hole again, squeezing her eyes shut as her back bows against whatever she's laying on and this time it's a scream that works its way up her throat.

It tears at her throat as there's hands on her face, all over her body. She thinks she's being carried, hands beneath her.

Amaya lets herself drift off. She's oh so tired - she deserves this. It's just a moment. She doesn't embrace the darkness like an old friend but welcomes it like the long-lost enemy it is.

* * *

 

“Shit, shit, _shit,”_ Amaya thinks Gren chants but she can’t quite tell, his head bent as he stripped off the leather at her side and threw it somewhere out of her peripheral. Even if she could see his mouth, Amaya doesn’t know if she’d be able to focus on the words coming out of them – she’d never noticed his lips before.

Is she supposed to be bleeding this much? She feels so light, like she could fly away.

“Language,” she thinks she rasps out but doesn’t know, only knows there’s some vibration in her throat and Gren’s eyebrows somehow seem to furrow further down into his face. Amaya would chuckle if everything didn’t hurt like a son of a bitch.

There’s a hand in hers.

Amaya turns her head enough and she thinks Callum’s face comes into her swimming vision, pinched with fear. She reaches for him but it's air, only air, she's choking -

She hates swimming. Her vision is underwater, eyelids heavy, she’s so tired, she just needs to sleep for a bit –

There’s a hand in her peripheral and she doesn’t register the hit until the pain sings through her and all she can think is what the hell. A shaky hand comes to her face – not the one she reached for Callum with - as she turns her head enough for her vision to spin out of focus again.

Amaya imagines if she could hear Gren’s voice, he would be spitting.

“Eyes on me,” she thinks he says. “Don’t you dare fall asleep, General.”

His hand is on her cheek for a moment before disappearing and she thinks dimly between waves of rolling pain that she misses the warmth. He’s always been warm, her Commander, she always sat close to him during Winter nights during patrol.

Her eyelids flutter. Through her rapidly-fading vision, Amaya can see how Gren's forearms flex as her side shifts. He's trying to stop the blood flow from her side.

Weakly, she reaches for him but never knows if she reaches him - she can't see Callum, can't see Ezran, can't breathe -

Gren raises his head to yell something, lips forming panicked words she can't hear, can't see. She blinks when something wet falls on her cheek.

The last thing she sees is Gren looking down at her, haloed by sunlight, lips forming  _please._

She mourns not being able to stay awake, for _him_.

For her boys. For _Callum_ and _Ezran._

For _Sarai._

Amaya slips into darkness gratefully, free of pain, blissful.

Sleep is not as peaceful as she hopes. She prays she will wake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ' M S O R R Y P L E A S E D O N ' T H U R T M E


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amaya falls faster than anyone can catch her. Balance is a careful, cautious act.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: blood and graphic description of injury as well as the measures in the middle ages/medieval times that were used to treat such wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- AUTHOR'S NOTE: IF YOU DIDN'T READ THE SUMMARY THERE'S A LOT OF BLOOD AND GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF INJURY IN THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE CLICK OFF IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT AND THE END NOTES WILL HAVE A CLEAN SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER. END OF AUTHOR'S NOTE -
> 
> to no one's fucking surprise the chapter count is going up again wow surprise surprise i really need to stick to my outline better [ sigh ]
> 
> i'm so sorry in advance. enjoy as best you can! this was so emotionally draining to write hhgngh

Callum's never heard Commander Gren curse before.

Maybe he's just imagining it in the whipping of the wind past his ears but when his aunt slumps against his back and Gren looks over and screams her name so loudly Callum's ears seem to pop, he hears more than one curse word slip out. Panic jerks like a snake in his stomach as a town grows closer, ever-closer, hooves pounding against cobblestones instead of dirt, townspeople stopping in the street at the commotion,  _Amaya's weight against his back-_

It's gone, suddenly, and Gren's wretched scream of Amaya's name without the proper title is the worst and most painful thing Callum's ever heard. He whips around, heart hammering like a drum in his chest just in time to see Amaya's limp body hit the cobblestones, fingers limp against the dirty gray.

Gren's kneeled by her side a second later and Callum slides off the horse in a haze - _where are they?_

There's hands and bodies pressing in around them, townspeople drawing closer and already shouting orders for a medic, for water, for bandages but Callum shoves through the crowd, panic drowning out every sound except the frantic beat of his heart booming in his ears _Ezran Ezran Ezran -_

Someone slams into him and Callum sprawls out on the cobblestones. His shoulder jolts against the ground and Callum cries out, propping himself up on elbows.

His breath speeds up but he swallows down the feeling of being crushed. "EZRAN!" he screams, tears pricking at his eyes, _"EZRAN!"_

_"CALLUM!"_

Although every part of him hurts, Callum forces himself upright and calls again. "Ezran!"

"Callum? CALLUM!"

He shoves past another person and he's tripping over his own feet -

His little brother is frozen next to Gren's horse and Callum drops to his knees beside him with nothing but pure relief and adrenaline singing through his veins. It only takes a moment for Ezran to register his brother right in front of him but then he's throwing his arm around Callum's shoulders - the one not squeezing Bait to his body - and sobbing into his shirt.

"Callum.....Callum!.....A-Aunt Amaya-"

"I got you," Callum soothes as Gren's frantic yellings of Amaya's name tamper into whimpers, "I got you, Ez. S-she's going to be _fine_ , you'll see. They'll get someone to help."

As if the universe has finally heard their cries, there's a medic pushing through the crowd, yelling, as he kneel beside his aunt's prone form. He's tall and lanky with dark blue eyes that look trustworthy.

Or maybe Callum's just losing it. He has to believe the best, though, because his aunt could be dying from bleeding out.

When the healer has to prod at the thin leather over his aunt's stomach and breastbone, Callum catches sight of blood-stained gleaming bones between the bodies of those gathered and milling.

He chokes as his stomach roils - it's Amaya's ribs.

Callum's never seen his Aunt Amaya so still before - as long as he can remember, his aunt has always been moving. Even sitting still at the table to eat, he remembers the movement of her fingers, the constant dart of her eyes, the set of her shoulders underneath her armor and shield.

One arm around Ezran's shoulders, Callum pushes through the crowd. "THAT'S MY AUNT!" he cries, "LET ME THROUGH! _PLEASE!"_

Unsurprisingly, no one listens. As panic rears angry and afraid, Callum says a prayer begging for forgiveness and drives his elbow into the masses. People yelp angrily but soon he's standing over his aunt.

Callum's breath ceases.

There's blood - more blood than he's ever seen in his life - actively pouring from a large gash in Amaya's leather armor over her tunic. Despite both Gren and the medic kneeling over her, Callum doesn't miss how Amaya's head is propped on Gren's thighs and the Commander's hands pressing into the wound that goes from the middle of Amaya's stomach to the edge of her side. They're pushing so deep into the deep gash that his hands are coated in the angry, violent color and when Callum's eyes wander to the Commander's face, the eyes are glazed with panic and barely-concealed tears.

The wound is deep and despite the press of Gren's hands, isn't letting up the bleeding.

Someone from the back of the crowd passes up a cloth but Gren's already moving, stripping off his outer tunic and pushing it into the wound without a second's hesitation. His eyes flicker up for a moment with nothing but pure fear in them and they catch on Callum's.

Both of them look down when Amaya moans weakly before coughing. Blood flakes her lips and chin.

Callum thinks he sobs as he drops to his knees and Ezran does the same, until they too are kneeling over Amaya and his hands are _shaking -_

Gren makes a mournful sound as Amaya moans again. Callum can see how Gren's tunic pressed to the gash is already soaked through and leaking onto his hand, dripping onto the cobblestones below.

Amaya's eyelids flutter as she coughs again. More red coats her lips and a single drop drips down her neck and disappears under the collar of her tunic.

"We need to move her," the healer says firmly but not unkindly, "or she's not going to make it. We need to stem the flow and find some way to close it temporarily or she'll bleed out before we get back to my shop."

Gren looks pained. "I-" he starts but his voice dies in his throat as he looks down at the slack face of his General. _"I-"_

"We got a board! Make a hole!" Someone in the crowd yells and everyone's heads whip around. People shift so two men and a woman can wiggle through, both in stark white aprons and hair pulled back.

Callum thinks them healers.

Hands are pushing him and Ezran back and Ezran struggles, cries out but Callum clamps his hand around his little brother's wrist and pulls him slack against his body. Around them the crowd moves to accommodate the board and Callum catches sight of it being laid next to Amaya's body, Gren slipping out from underneath her head to shift in position.

"One, two, THREE!"

Gren and the healer pick up Amaya's body just enough so the two men and woman can slide the slab of wood beneath her. Then there's more hands coming around to lift the board and Callum trips over himself to keep up. Ezran's crying softly behind him as Callum pulls them out of the crowd and follows, focused solely on the limp hand hanging off the side of the board and Gren's fiery hair as he bears part of the weight.

The group of healers and Gren all but run in their haste to get down the road. Ezran yelps as he almost trips over a loose cobblestone but Callum hauls him up before he can.

"Boil water!" the main healer yells after someone kicks in the door to the shop. Callum follows closely and sees the woman sweep her hand across the counter just in time for them to lay Amaya down on it and crowd around her after they slip her off the board

He crowds Ezran and himself into a corner.

Despite the roaring in his chest to stay close, Callum knows Ezran and he would only be in the way.

The room seems to grow more frantic with every minute. "Needle!" someone cries closely followed by a lower, "we need to get her out of these layers or I won't be able to see the wound."

Callum watches as Gren wordlessly produces a dagger from his boot and with all the decorum of a Commander trying to save his General's life, cuts through the leather straps that keep Amaya's armor on. The point of the knife cuts through her tunic underneath like butter and Callum averts his eyes as Gren and the main healer - he thinks someone calls him Lind - peel off Amaya's layers like silk.

Her breast bindings stay though, soaked as they are with blood.

 

The ruined leather breastplate and tunic fall to the ground without pretense and the chaos becomes more focused. A bottle of something clear is passed up and with a mournful look, Lind uncaps it and pours it over the wound.

Amaya comes to screaming, back bending upwards. It's the most horrid sound Callum's ever heard and next to him, Ezran cries harder.

With a grimace, Callum turns so he's blocking Ezran's view of the table and clamps his hands over Ezran's ears. They both end up on the ground somehow and Callum's arms come to encircle both Ezran and Bait, who croaks confusedly as Amaya _screams_ and screams _and screams._

Callum glances back only once, hands still on Ezran's ears as his little brother's face is buried in the front of his tunic.

He doesn't realize Gren is crying until he sees the tears slipping down the Commander's face as he struggles to keep an unconscious and writhing Amaya still enough for Lind to clean the wound further. The bloody washcloth in the healer's hands is perfectly level while Amaya's body shakes and trembles beneath it.

Gren's tears drip onto Amaya's face, running clear rivers through the blood on her chin and lips but he holds steady.

Callum squeezes his eyes shut as if it would help and holds Ezran tighter to him as Lind calls for the needle, sterilized over the oven's coals. Amaya's screams descend into shrieking madness as the heated metal enters her skin for the first time.

He doesn't know how much time passes between when his aunt's screams die down and the bile in the back of his throat at the sound seems to fade for a moment. There's a hand on his shoulder.

Looking up hesitantly through swollen eyelids, there's Commander Gren, eyes dropping and lips pursed, arms and hands covered in angry red that Callum can only identify as Amaya's blood in the moment. Ezran is curled against his chest.

He throws up on Gren's shoes.

When Callum expels the last bit of bile from his stomach and throat and looks up, Gren just looks worn - more weathered than any 24 year-old should. Callum expects him to be angry.

Instead, Gren falls to his knees and gathers them both up in his arms.

Ezran's crying starts immediately again and Callum clutches the back of Gren's undershirt like it's a lifeline. He suddenly feels the exhaustion of the day weighing on his shoulders like everything is crashing down all at once and catches sight of his aunt through the people finishing up taking care of her.

She's paler than Callum's ever seen her. He knows that light skin is inherent of his mother's side but the shade of white that Amaya's skin is an unnatural shade that makes him shiver. He can't see much from here but there's dark circles underneath Amaya's closed eyes and something that looks like blood smeared on her chin.

Callum thinks dimly he might be sick again.

It's not a moment later he realizes Gren is repeating something over and over again into Ezran's shoulders, arms holding the two boys tight to his chest as it heaves.

"I'm sorry," Gren cries almost pathetically, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I let this happen boys, I'm _sorry_."

There's the sound of a choked sob and Gren's head whips around faster than the rest of theirs. On the table, Amaya's body wracks slightly and Gren's on his feet before Callum can blink.

He pulls Ezran along with him when he stands and follows.

Although Gren's there first, Callum and Ezran crowd the side of the table just in time to see how Gren's hand snatches back. Suppressing a weak smile at Amaya's hair now tucked behind her ear, Callum leans forward to kiss her forehead.

"Hey Aunt Amaya," he murmurs shakily even though he knows she can't hear him even if she was awake. "You did it. We're safe."

She doesn't move. Callum holds back tears even as he wipes a drop of dried blood from her chin and winces at how pale she is - even the twisted scar beneath her eye.

The floorboards behind them creak and they all turn. Lind wipes his hands on a rag and Callum's stomach turns at the dark red staining the fabric - he knows exactly what it is.

"She'll be okay," Lind says softly but the sound rings in Callum's ears as if he's yelled it. Gren stands as he continues. "Right now she just needs to rest."

Commander Gren clasps his hand. "Thank you," he murmurs and it isn't lost on any of them how unstable his voice is, wavering close to tears. "Thank you for your help..."

"Lind," the healer supplies with a smile and crosses to the other side of the table. Callum steers Ezran's eyes away when he peers beneath the bandage wrapped around Amaya's middle and pokes at the stitches once or twice. "Do you folks have somewhere to go tonight? I would recommend keeping her here for at least a week so I can make sure there's no infection."

Gren scratches the back of his head, looking lost. "Uh - no. We don't. Is there anywhere in town we could stay? We have money-"

Lind doesn't seem to think for more than a second before wiping his hands again and dropping the rag in the sink. "You and your children are welcome to stay with my family and I. We have more than enough room."

"I wouldn't want to impose-"

"Nonsense," Lind waves away Gren's protests as he hands him a clean rag from next to the sink. "My daughter and husband love company and after the excitement of today, I'm sure your boys would appreciate a soft mattress. We have more than enough room. Would you like to stay here with your wife for the night? We could bring in a cot and blankets."

Callum glances at Gren at the  _wife_ part but figures it's probably safer to lie.

Easier, too, than explaining that they're princes and the unconscious figure on the table is the General of the Crown Guard who was attacked by a Moonshadow elf outside of a human town on a mission to kill them.

Yeah, Callum gets why Gren is lying through his teeth.

"I-" Gren trails off for a second looking lost, hands stopping in their movement to wipe Amaya's blood from his palms before his gaze connects with Callum's. He tugs Ezran closer and Gren's shoulders set. "Thank you, Lind, but I trust you and your healers. They will do more good for her than I could and I think my boys need me more right now. My wife would kill me if I didn't take care of them while she couldn't."

Lind chuckles, extending his hand. "Understandable," he says as Gren finishes wiping his hands and takes the offered appendage. "She sounds like a strong woman and mother."

"She is," Gren murmurs before snapping out of whatever reverie he's in. There's dark circles under his eyes as he hands Lind the rag back. "We thank you for your help and I promise to pay you heftily for your services."

"I won't take your money," Lind says as he packs up his things. "It wouldn't be fair of me. You needed help and I gave it to you. You have nothing to repay. You and your boys staying with us for the next few days is payment enough. Adrian and Rosemary will be pleased - we rarely have guests."

Gren looks close to tears.

"Thank you," he repeats hoarsely. "Thank you again for your kindness."

Nodding, Lind beckons them through the door. "I'll make sure your wife is watched at all times. My three attendants will be here all night - Brighid, and her husbands Lucas and Bliant are all fine healers, been with me for almost five years. Your wife is in capable hands. Your horses are already at my place, as are all your belongings and supplies."

Seemingly unable to continue the conversation, Gren just nods again as they walk across town. Night has fallen and few townspeople are out and about. Lind waves to a few of them as Callum grips Ezran's hand, who yawns widely.

Gren halts beside them long enough to scoop Ezran into his arms and take Callum's hand in his own. It's odd, at first, but Callum reminds himself that right now they're a loving family that's suffering an almost-deadly tragedy.

Aunt Amaya trusts Lieutenant Commander Gren with her life.

Callum guesses he needs to learn to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clean summary of the chapter: callum and ezran get lost in the crowd that forms when amaya falls and they have to fight through to get to her. a healer named lind and his three associates rush over and get her on a board as gren tries to bandage the wound with his over-tunic because she's bleeding out. callum and ezran follow and huddle in the corner of the healer's shop as she's operated on. gren comes over when the surgery's done and the main healer, lind, offers them a place to stay as amaya recovers because he wants to keep her for about a week to two weeks until her blood is replenished and to make sure she doesn't get an infection. lind assumes gren and the boys are amaya's husband and kids and callum realizes gren is lying because the truth is too hard to explain to strangers. gren accepts the gracious invite and carries an exhausted ezran to lind's house as callum takes his hand. callum reflects on how commander gren has always been amaya's most trusted companion and how intimately she trusts him, so he has to now too. 
> 
> try not to yell at me _too_ much in the comments but if you do i'll revel in it because PAIN AND SUFFERING :^) 
> 
> follow me on my twitter @ qveensarai ! see y'all next week.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter and opportunity are delivered. The author falls in love with three minor characters she wasn't supposed to and focuses on them. Callum breathes as Ezran sleeps and presses his ear to the floorboards. What are they talking about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note!! next week we will hit the HALFWAY POINT of this fic and i couldn't be more excited, so get ready for a double update week! i'm literally vibrating with excitement for y'all to see what's to come.
> 
> also, get used to lind, adrian and rosemary. i may have created and then fallen in love with them in the same breath. we get to know them so strap in my dudes.
> 
> enjoy!

_The parchment is rippled, signaling it had been wet but dried at some point on the journey here. The Captain reaches out to accept it, unraveling it and scanning it thoroughly. The crew member looks curious._

_"What does it mean, Captain?"_

_The Captain smiles, rolling it back up and tucking it against the desk's right corner._

_"A prize awaits us," the Captain smirks and with a flutter of a dark red cape trimmed in gold, ascends the stairs._

_So little time, so much to do._

* * *

They walk for a few more minutes until Lind stops in front of a house right near where the water of port laps near the deck.

"Home sweet home," their new friend sighs and pushes open the door. Callum sees a sign advertising a tackle shop and thinks dimly that they'll have to watch Bait closely.

Lind guides them through the dark shop to a door behind a curtain and they climb a set of thin, creaky stairs. Without preamble, he pushes open the door at the top and with a glance at each other, Gren and Callum follow.

The housing above the bait shop is cramped but smells wonderful. Callum didn't know how hungry he was until his stomach rumbles and Lind chuckles at the sound.

"Luckily for you, it's Adrian's turn to cook tonight," Lind whispers with a smirk before setting down the bag at his hip and cupping his hands. "Daddy's home!"

For a second the movement in the other rooms is still but a second later there's a shout and a small figure barrels into Lind. Both of them laugh and the healer hoists a little girl into his arms. "Rosemary! My little pearl! How was your day?"

"I'm not little!" the girl cries, "you know that Daddy! My birthday was two weeks ago!"

Lind sobers.

"I forgot that you're all grown-up now," he says mock-seriously and there's a chuckle from the other room.

Another man appears in the doorway to what Callum assumes is the rest of the house. "How could you forget? She informed me of that every other minute today."

Rosemary crosses her arms as Lind crosses the room to kiss the other man hello. While Lind is tall and willowy with long and steady fingers, his husband is shorter with a beard and an apron tucked into his trousers. In his hand, there's a spoon that Callum assumes is to stir something but isn't sure.

"Where are my manners," Lind murmurs before turning and slipping an arm around the other man's waist. "Adrian, darling, this is Gren and his sons....I don't think I asked their names. I'm so sorry."

"I'm Callum," Callum says hurriedly and screws up his face for a second, "and uh....Zeke. His real name is Ezekiel but he likes his nickname."

Adrian's voice is low and comforting, rough around the edges. If Callum had to guess, he would say that Lind's husband is a sailor, evident by the callouses on his hands when he shakes Gren's hand that isn't holding up Ezran - _Ezekiel_.

"Welcome," he says with a smile. "What brings your family to our little port?"

Gren and Callum exchange uneasy glances but luckily, Lind jumps in. "They came into town on horses and I met them when Gren's wife fell off her horse. She was in a fight of some kind - had a huge cut across her side. I offered to let them stay until she wakes after I stitched her up. She wasn't doing so well."

Out of the corner of his eye, Callum sees Gren wince before straightening. If he hadn't been looking, he'd have missed it. 

"Oh," Adrian muses as he walks back into the kitchen, "you were the ones making the fuss this afternoon. I wondered what was going on. Rosey wanted to go see what was the matter. What happened? Were you jumped by thieves?"

Thankfully, Ezran uses that moment to yawn loudly and stir in Gren's arms. Fatigued from the adrenaline that Callum is sure is wearing off, Gren wavers slightly on his feet for a moment and Lind's smile is knowing.

"Let's leave the storytelling for later," he says softly. "For now, I'll make up the guest bedroom. Looks like Zeke could use it. Come, Rosemary, let's get the blankets."

"Yes," Gren says thankfully and with a look to Callum, follows their host up the stairs to their right.

Not sure what quite to do, Callum instead tails Adrian into the kitchen and sits in the chair the man points the spoon to. "You look dead on your feet, son. Sit down before you keel over."

Rosemary and Lind come down a few minutes later and speak in hushed tones before the little girl climbs back up the stairs to what Callum assumes is her bedroom. The apartment isn't much, two stories at most - a kitchen, common room, cramped dining room attached to it all and a staircase leading up. It's homey if small and Callum closes his eyes to the humming of Adrian and the murmurs upstairs of Gren getting Ezran - _Ezekiel_ \- into bed.

It's quiet for a bit except for the bubbling of whatever's in the pot and Callum doesn't realize how tired he is until there's a bowl being pushed gently into his hands. He pries open his heavy eyelids despite his body's protest to find Adrian kneeling in front of him, smiling reassuringly.

"I-I'm sorry," Callum stutters, sitting up. "I should've helped-"

Adrian chuckles. "Nonsense, you're our guest. Now to bed with you, little one, you've had a long day. If your brother wakes, I'll make him one too."

"Thank you," Callum murmurs.

As he stands and offers his hand, Adrian's smile widens. Callum takes it and the fisherman pulls him to his feet heavily. "You're welcome, son. Now go - we have things to talk about with your father."

With slow footfalls, Callum climbs the stairs. They're cramped and he worries about catching his sluggish feet on the lip of the next as he ambles up them.

Thankfully, he makes it to the top without incidence.

For a moment he wonders which bedroom is theirs. Before he takes another step though, Gren appears at the end of the hall, turning as he closes the door.

The tears that have been held at bay for what feels like an eternity suddenly crawl up his throat and his head aches.

Without thinking Callum is shakily setting down his bowl and running into the Commander's arms.

Gren makes a muffled groan when Callum hits his chest but encircles his arms around Callum anyway, holding him close. It's then Callum truly lets himself break down as he processes everything that's happened today and that Gren's undershirt is smeared with Amaya's blood.

His aunt almost _died_ today.

Callum buries his head in Commander Gren's shoulder and cries and cries until his eyes burn and his cheeks are stiff. Throughout it all, Gren holds him close and cards a hand through Callum's unruly brown hair, murmuring nothings that the prince doesn't try to decipher.

When Callum pulls back finally and wipes his nose on his sleeve, Gren's smile is mournful. "Try to get some sleep," Gren murmurs. "I know it's been a long day, Callum. Thank you for rolling with me."

He just nods wordlessly and Gren presses the bowl back into Callum's hands. As if he's in a dream, Callum stumbles to the cracked-open door at the end of the hallway but turns at the last second.

"Hey, Gren?"

Commander Gren turns. "Yes?"

"How long have you been in love with my aunt?"

Callum expects protests, expects Gren to blush and stumble over his words in his haste to convince Callum otherwise but to his surprise - the young man simply smiles.

"That obvious, huh?"

"A little," Callum confesses and Gren's laugh is quiet. "How long?"

Gren doesn't answer for a moment. Callum wonders if he knows himself.

"As long as I can remember," Gren says finally, voice low. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't. Can you promise me something, though?"

"Anything," Callum says immediately and surprises them both.

Callum shrugs at Gren's curious look. Today, he's the only reason Amaya is still breathing. Family means everything to Callum - he's not in the business of letting things that like that go.

"Let's keep this between us," Gren murmurs and Callum nods. Gren's turning away but Callum's voice stops him again. "Commander?"

"Yeah?"

Callum smiles. "Thank you for protecting us. I know it would mean the world to my aunt."

"You're welcome. It's my job."

"For all its worth," Callum continues, "I don't think it's one-sided, Commander."

Gren smiles back at him and despite the dark undershirt stained with Amaya's blood and the dark circles beneath his eyes and slump of his shoulders, Callum is reminded of his age. Despite being barely halfway to thirty, he looks almost his aunt's age.

"Just call me Gren, Prince Callum. Or _dad_ \- at least while we're here."

Callum inclines his head again. "Okay, Gren."

With his back against the door, he lets himself close his eyes and mourn the fact that his aunt might have died today and he still doesn't know about his parents' fates.

Chest still warm from his hug with Gren, it doesn't seem to matter as Callum collapses against the door and heaves huge breaths as the world spirals. The thought that his mother isn't here to help him through the episode makes it worse. Suddenly Callum can't breathe as his lungs seem to collapse, squeezing in on themselves as everything spins, _faster_ and _faster_ and he can't breathe can't see _can't think -_

"Callum. _Breathe_. Callum. Callum, can you hear me? Like mom always says, you need to breathe."

Looking up through heavy eyelids is the hardest thing Callum's ever done. In the back of his mind, he registers that he's dropped the bowl of soup and his stomach protests as he struggles to focus on the person in front of him.

Ezran's face swims into view.

Callum almost cries with relief. " _Breathe_ ," his little brother repeats.

Although it's slow, Callum can feel his lungs moving, the world coming back into focus.

"Ez?"

"Hey," his brother smiles tightly as his surroundings finally right themselves on the right axes. "You're okay, Callum. You're safe."

He doesn't realize he's on the floor and clutching Ezran's tunic until his knuckles start to ache.

"Sorry," Callum whispers and shakily undoes his fingers from their fists. Ezran frowns.

"You don't have to be sorry," his little brother says as he sits down next to Callum against the door. Ezran's shoulder brushes his own as he shifts. "It's not your fault - Mom always says that, right?"

Tears that aren't from his panic attack prick at Callum's eyes. "Yeah, Ez, it's not. I know."

Before his little brother knows what's happening, Callum's pulling him into a fierce hug. While Ezran makes a small sound of surprise, he buries his head in Callum's shoulder as Callum does the same to him. For a moment, they're both wrapped around the other, sheltered from the events of the day in the other's arms.

 _"I love you,"_ Callum murmurs. Sitting back on his heels, Ezran smiles.

"I love you too, Lulu."

Callum can't help but smile at the nickname, ruffling Ezran's hair. It was what Ez called him as a kid when he couldn't pronounce Callum and it came out as Lulu instead.

 _Lulu!_ Ezran had cried, toddling towards his older brother. _Lulu!_

He remembers how Sarai laughed so hard until she cried and Harrow scooped both of his sons into his arms and said he was perfectly content - he loved his wife and Lulu and Ez.

In retaliation, Callum had called him _Ezzie_ until he was old enough to protest vehemently but without any real malicious intent.

They sit there in silence for a few minutes until Ezran sniffs and Callum looks over alarmed. There's silent tears streaming down Ezran's face and with a grimace, Callum pulls him into his arms until his little brother is sitting in his lap and he's rocking them both.

 _"A-Amaya,"_ Ezran hiccups and Callum's heart aches in his chest.

He holds Ezran closer. "She'll be okay," he whispers, "I promise, Ez. She'll get better and we keep going. Commander Gren knows what he's doing. We have to trust him."

"I wish I was like you," Ezran sniffs.

Callum freezes, peeling himself back but Ezran's tiny arms around him won't move. "Ez? What do you mean?"

"You're so strong," his little brother whispers, "you always know what to do. I wish I was like you, Callum."

"Hey hey hey," Callum murmurs, pulling back to kiss Ezran's forehead and look him in the eye. "Hey, Ezran. Buddy. Look at me."

With a sniff, Ezran lifts his head. Callum makes a mournful sighing sound when he sees his face - eyes puffy and red, usually smile-lifted lips turned downwards. It's such a stark contrast to Ezran's usual mood that Callum pulls him back in. He wants to tell Ezran about how he isn't strong - how he's cried himself to sleep every night since they left Katolis, woken with delibating nightmares about his mother and step-father dying miles away. How his hands shake when the bushes rustle and every sound makes him jump.

Instead, Callum plants a kiss on Ezran's hair before standing. Despite the protest of his legs when he holds Ez close while staggering to the bed, Callum doesn't let go.

As shaky and scared as he is, his little brother needs him right now. So Callum will be strong for him.

For Ezran.

* * *

She growls. The cut on her cheek has scabbed over, jagged stitches from her pack when she had to patch herself up using the reflection in the river. By her hip, embedded in the ground, is the knife that sliced through her face, thrown by the red-haired companion of the General.

Looks like Commander Gren is going to be a bigger problem than Rayla originally anticipated.

The binding around her wrist tightens minutely and she winces. A stark reminder of what she's here to do.

In less than a week, it will start to cut off circulation. It's her duty and responsibility to make sure it comes off. _An assassin is only as nimble as their hands,_ Runaan told her once.  _Without our hands, we're useless. That's why we bind ourselves - a mission complete is to live another day. A failed mission results in a punishment worse than death._

The sun is setting. She tucks away the knife at her hip and turns to scale a tree for the night. She's in tricky territory, camping outside the human town the General had sought aid in. Rayla heard the gossip of the townspeople and not for the first time, wonders if the Commander and General are married. She's followed them for almost five days and watched from the bushes as they spoke in gestures she didn't understand but she wasn't daft. She could see how they looked at each other.

Rayla's seen that look before - seen it in how Runaan looks at Tinker. Misery hits her like a knife in the chest. If she doesn't complete her mission here, she can't return home. Whether the Commander and General are tied at the fingers, she has a job to do. No matter how they're _affiliated_. 

She resides herself to figure it out before she slits Prince Ezran's throat. Settling in, Rayla pulls out the knife. There's dirt on the blade from her stabbing it into the ground to clean it of her own blood and now in the moonlight, she studies it.

A smile pulls at her lips - this may be useful yet. 

Dawn comes as swiftly as dusk. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum eavesdrops, Ezran sleeps, Gren and Callum talk. Sarai sits in an empty throne room. Amaya does not stir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a double update week! i know this is a day late but i'm gonna post twice today as a celebration of the halfway point of this fic :) even though i feel like no one reads this anymore and my quality has gone down because i've hit a wall when it comes to inspiration, i'm gonna keep writing it even if no one reads it.
> 
> i have to get it out of my system.
> 
> enjoy!

Thankfully, Ezran falls asleep not long after Callum wrestles his sleep-limp arms out of his clothes and into an oversized shirt folded on the end of the bed. He sends a silent thank-you to Lind and reminds himself to thank him properly the next morning. Despite the exhaustion pulling at him, Callum can't sleep. He'd eaten the soup left in the bowl after it fell and splashed onto the floor until his stomach rolled and protested.

Blowing out a breath, he sits up. The bedroom is dark, curtains fluttering with the slightly-chilled night air and he's running a frustrated hand through his rumpled curls when he hears it.

Callum freezes.

The floorboards below creak and he catches the low murmur of voices again. Curiosity gets the best of him moments later and he's sliding from beneath the thin blanket, padding

"Tomorrow we'll take you and your boys to Emory. He and his wife Dell run a textile and tailor shop just a few storefronts away so we can get you folks some new clothes."

Gren's voice is muffled by the floorboards. "Thank you again for helping us," he murmurs and Callum shifts slightly so he can press his ear closer to the floorboards. "You've been a godsend, truly, for letting me and my boys into your home."'

"Of course," Lind says and there's the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. "Now, if you don't mind me being nosy - _what happened?"_

Gren sighs heavily. Callum holds his breath to hear better.

"I don't know," the Commander says and there's a pause - Callum thinks he's eating the soup maybe? - "one minute my wife and I were traveling with our sons to your town to board a boat to Evenere and the next moment there are thieves attacking us."

"How many were there?"

There's a sound of a bowl or cup being set on the small, round table Callum had seen. Someone coughs lowly. "I don't know," Gren says hoarsely. It was him coughing then. "They were fast. I didn't see their faces, all I saw was that they went for-"

"You don't have to tell us everything," Adrian murmurs and Callum barely catches Gren's even lower whispered _'thank you.'_ "We're just curious."

"What's your wife's name? I'm sorry but I never asked."

There's a pause. Gren's voice sounds quieter and more ragged than Callum remembers it being. "Amaya."

"A lovely name," Adrian notes. "How long have you two known each other?"

"It seems like forever but it's only been about five years."

Callum can hear how Lind's eyebrows shoot up as he chuckles. "Oh, so Callum-"

"A previous marriage," Gren says hastily and Callum chuckles to himself. Best stick as close to the truth as possible, he thinks. Easier to explain and remember if they have to keep up this act of a family for a week.

"May I ask you something?"

There's hesitation in Gren's voice, thinly veiled. Callum presses closer to the floorboards. "Yes?"

"Why does Ezekiel look nothing like you? If you don't mind me asking, I know it's rude-"

"It's not a problem," Gren chuckles. "He is my son in everything but blood. He's adopted - he came to us in a time of need. But he is my son, no doubt - he loves jelly tarts as much as his mother and his love for animals and climbing every tree he finds is definitely from me."

The two men laugh and Callum sits back on his thighs, confused. The line between lie and reality is blurring - does Gren really see them as his own kids or is it just part of the act?

Callum has a feeling that Commander Gren is more observant than he gives him credit for.

He knows Gren was the one that taught them how to climb trees, who first showed Ezran how to splint a wing when they found a baby bird in the woods, wing broken, chirping weakly. Ezran had begged for Gren to help him and he had - he had shown Ezran how to wrap the wing and keep the baby bird in his palms without squishing it.

Now that Callum's thinking about it, he remembers Amaya's soft smile when Ezran stumbled back into the castle, mouth moving a mile a minute, and Gren interpreted. His fingers moved in a dance Callum was only starting to understand and Amaya responded in like. There had been a fondness in her eyes that Gren reciprocated. 

Now that he's thinking about it, he should have seen how his aunt and her Commander looked at each other long before this trip.

He presses his ear back to the floorboards.

Whatever Lind says is drowned out by a low, winded yawn. A laugh that Callum recognizes as Adrian's drifts through the floorboards. "You're dead on your feet, man," he says and Callum puts together it was Gren yawning.

He isn't surprised. The events of the day are quickly catching up to him as well.

"We have the couch if you don't want to wake your sons-"

"No, thank you," Gren says and there's the sound of a chair scraping the floor. Callum weighs staying and listening further to scrambling back in bed and putting up the pretense he hasn't been eavesdropping. "I'm blown away by your kindness, truly, but I think my boys need me."

"Understandable," Adrian says and then the stairs are creaking.

Knees scraping the floorboards, Callum trips his way to the bed and burrows himself beneath the covers until Ezran's hot sleep-stinky breath is blowing out near his chin.

Callum's pulling the blanket over his chest when the door opens and he freezes. Slamming his eyes shut, his heart beats wildly - did Gren see him? Will he be chastised for listening in on their conversation?

Instead, Gren crosses the room and there's the sounds of him replacing the blood-smeared undertunic with one provided by Lind, most likely - the two men are closest in stature. "I know you were listening, Callum."

His eyes pop open. _How -_

"Years around your aunt has taught me how to listen with both ears, even when I'm preoccupied," Gren chuckles as Callum slowly sits up. "You're not in trouble. I know you're wondering about what happened."

"Thank you," Callum murmurs, picking at the blanket. Gren turns.

"For what?"

Callum looks up. "For keeping us safe," he whispers, "and for getting our aunt help. I didn't know what to do and without you-"

"It's okay," Gren says quietly as he steps forward to take Callum's hands in his own. "It's okay, Callum. You don't need to thank me. Yo - Amaya will be fine, I promise."

He doesn't think before throwing his arms around Commander Gren's shoulders and sobbing into his chest. There's barely hesitation as Gren's arms come to encircle Callum's back, rubbing circles and Callum's legs curl up between them.

Gren hugs back with all the ferocity he wished he had in the moment when the elf lept from the bushes and Amaya pushed him back and he stumbled into Callum, watched as she lept -

She had been off-balance without her shield. They both knew it.

He never would have guessed how the absence of her shield would throw her off.

Gren's hands curl in the extra material at Callum's back and a second later he's crying too and Callum's tears are soaking his collar as his own do the same. Barely inches away, Ezran sleeps on. Gren is thankful.

The young crown prince is barely ten. Gren will not be responsible for the loss of his childhood innocence's glow.

Maybe it's already gone.

Maybe Ezran became a man long before today when the elf's swords slashed through Amaya's ribs like it was ribbons and Gren, wild with panic, threw his dagger and pretended he didn't see the blood as they fled.

Ezran had grown up as they studied the bushes, watched their backs. Somewhere between his parents hugging him goodbye and the blood-stained cobblestones of port where Gren screamed for help, he had matured.

Neither one of them says anything when Ezran crawls into their little group hug. Callum merely shifts and then Bait's in Gren's arms and they're all crying.

Wordlessly, they fall asleep like that.

Gren knows in the morning his neck will ache from pillowed atop of Ezran's but doesn't care in this moment - he needs this as much as the boys do. In the pocket of his trousers, knees dirty from the town's main road through and probably splattered with Amaya's blood as she coughed and it sprayed-

Callum's eyes are knowing. "It's okay," he murmurs, pulling back and taking Ezran from Gren's arms. He notes duly that the crown prince is already asleep again, snoring lightly.

"It's okay, Commander."

It should feel out of place but it doesn't - Gren leans forward and presses his lips to Callum's forehead. The contact only lasts a few seconds but a warmth blooms in Gren's chest like a ballista.

The feeling is coming home and if Gren would allow himself to be poetic for a moment, a light in the darkness of the day. Although it was only hours ago, the day feels long and stretched.

He groans when he lays down on the bed. Callum chuckles.

"You don't sound 24."

Gren's response is a pillow to Callum's face and for a split second, they forget that they're in a stranger's house and on the other side of Main Street Amaya is laying prone on a countertop, struggling to breathe.

It sobers them in a minute.

Callum swallows and burrows beneath the covers, snuggling into his brother's side and pulling him close. "Goodnight, Gren," he murmurs and Gren turns his head to smile weakly.

"Goodnight Prince Callum."

* * *

"Absolutely _fucking_ not."

Viren's voice is dripping with frustration. "Sarai-"

"It is _Queen Sari_ to you," she spits, grinding the butt of her spear into the cobblestones. She does not look at the empty throne next to her, she cannot -

She can hear how Viren grits his teeth. "We need to do this! Waiting for seven sunsets would not portray the strength that Katolis desperately needs right now! For the other kingdoms-"

"Get out," she growls as she stands. "Your king is DEAD and you have the _AUDACITY_ to try to take advantage of the situation for your own gain. You forget yourself and your place, Lord Viren."

"This is for the good of the people! You must be strong, for Katolis and its people, its enemies, your High Council-"

Something inside Sarai snaps.

"MY HUSBAND IS _DEAD!"_ she screams. "MY SONS ARE MISSING, MY HUSBAND IS DEAD, MY SISTER IS GONE! THERE IS _NOTHING_ I CAN DO TO BRING _ANY_ OF THEM BACK AND YOU STAND HERE BEFORE ME WITH YOUR STEEL-LACED LIES AS IF YOU DID NOT CARE FOR HARROW AT ALL! ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS YOUR IMAGE!"

Viren takes a step back. "Sarai-"

 _"QUIET!"_ Sarai screeches. There's a monster rising in her throat that she doesn't know if it's the urge to cry or throw something. Maybe both. "YOU DARE LIE TO YOUR QUEEN?"

Viren's breath comes in a quick intake. Sarai realizes what's happened.

Harrow and she have never used titles with Viren before - never until this instance. Viren had always been their friend, even if they didn't always agree and titles were never brought up except in formal situations.

This isn't formal. This was supposed to be a friend comforting a friend.

Sarai has made it a Queen berating her subordinate.

Good.

Viren's mouth gapes open as she swallows the lump in her throat, forces back the stinging of her eyes. Her fist clamps down around the shaft of her spear until without knowing, Sarai knows her knuckles are white.

"Get out of my sight," she growls. "Now. Before I arrest you for treason."

In her peripheral, she sees how the guards flinch. Her voice is a sharpened sword at the throat of Lord Viren. They do not step forward.

_Good._

Viren's own fists ball but he bows stiffly, all but fleeing from the room. She waves the guards out, too, and they filter out silently until the closing of the Great Hall's doors echoes in her empty ears.

Sarai bows over in her throne and sobs.

Huge, wracking cries wrench themselves from her throat, rivers of mourning down her cheeks. The night had been long and bloody and she knows the bow of her spine and the circles beneath her eyes had made the guards posted along the corridors raise their eyebrows.

She pushes a fist into her mouth, hand trembling as she curls into herself. Without Harrow beside her in his throne, the room is cold and empty - devoid of her husband, of her sons, of her sister.

Gone - _all of them._

Sarai can only hope that they're safe, that Amaya is keeping them safe.

That Gren is keeping _her_ safe.

If anything's happened to her boys, or Gren, or Amaya, Sarai doesn't know what she'll do. She is truly and utterly alone - the last of her family is out there, running for their lives, and she sits in a hollow throne room. 

She stands, takes a ragged breath.

Without a look at the throne to her left, she leaves. 

She has much to do. There's a funeral to plan. A kingdom to run.

A family to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch 11 is coming very, very soon. see you in a minute!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian admits something. Callum finds it hard to breathe and wrestles with the realization of many things. The world changes around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing much to say, but enjoy! i might not post next week because it's my graduation but we'll see. i'm just rolling with the punches. after that i'm going on vacation for a week and a half and i'm not sure where that'll lead me but i'll do my best to keep updating.
> 
> enjoy!

When Callum wakes, eyes puffy and Ezran's arms curled around his body, Gren is gone. There's a space on the other side of the bed that's cold and empty when Callum slips from his little brother's embrace and lays a hand on the covers.

_Right._

The previous day comes crashing back in and Callum shoves a knuckle between his teeth to a muffle a single, dry sob. Ezran's still asleep and Callum won't wake him with his crying. He always feels physically wrung out after an episode. For not the first time, Callum wishes he was home because Sarai would've stayed with him in his bed or let him stay in her and Harrow's chambers and he would've woken to her smiling face and kind, quiet voice. 

Swallowing down the bile that rises in his throat at the voice that whispers she may be gone and he wouldn't even know, Callum dresses quietly. 

The floorboards creak under his bare feet when he finally slips out of the bedroom. Bait croaks faintly when Callum looks back once at Ezran's sleeping form and curls up with Ezran again. 

Callum closes the door. He knows his brother is in good hands - good paws. 

There's already someone banging around downstairs. Callum can hear them before he even reaches the bottom of the cramped stairway and stops in the doorway to the main rooms. 

Lind and Adrian sit at the table, talking quietly. 

Gren is nowhere to be seen.

 Adrian sees him first and turns, a smile on his face. "Good morning," he greets quietly and Lind turns too. 

"Morning," Callum murmurs and looks around. "Where's G - my dad? He wasn't in bed this morning." 

Lind stands to set his plate in the sink and starts putting one together for Callum. "He was up with Adrian to open the shop and I think went down to the healers to check up on your mom." 

"Is she awake?" Callum asks excitedly, leaning forward, hands braced on the back of a chair. "Is she okay? Can I see her -"

Adrian chuckles and his large hand gently pushes Callum into his seat. "Patience, little one. I know you're worried but no, Amaya hasn't woken yet. He was worried about her though." 

"I heard him pacing around last night long before he quieted," Lind muses as he sets a bowl of piping oatmeal in front of Callum as well as a few sausages. Callum digs in. "He must love her very much." 

Callum swallows the bite he's taken, mouth suddenly dry. 

He looks down at his porridge. "He does," he confesses quietly, "he does." 

There's a moment of silence that Callum breaks by shoving another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. Adrian and Lind exchange looks. 

"Why don't we go down and visit your parents after your little brother gets up?" Lind suggests, wiping his hands on a dishrag tucked into his trousers. Callum flashes back to the night before as Lind wiped his hands on a different rag, hands covered in Amaya's blood, her screaming as he poured the liquor on her wound, Gren's tears dripping down Amaya's chin - 

"Callum," someone says softly. "Callum, it's okay." 

He doesn't realize he's pushed back his chair and folded over, hands in his hair and breathing heavily, sight foggy until Ezran's standing before him. Hair sticking up in all directions and Bait held in one arm, Ezran's other lays on Callum's shoulder. 

Callum hates how scared his little brother looks. 

"Ez," he chokes and then he's pulling Ezran into his arms, Bait and all. 

Although the glow toad croaks in protest, Ezran's arm curls against his back and before Callum realizes it, he's crying into his brother's shoulder. Huge, wracking sobs that shake his body beneath the tunic Adrian's lent him, toes curled around the rungs of the chair, oatmeal cooling in a bowl before him. 

"I'm going to go get Gren," Lind murmurs and Adrian nods as stands from his own chair. 

The floorboards next to Callum creak and he looks up from Ezran's bony shoulder. Through the swollen, wet sheen of his eyes, he sees the large fisherman and shop owner kneel by his side. 

"Your mother's going to be okay," Adrian murmurs. "I promise, Callum. Lind is the best healer around. She's going to be fine, you'll see." 

"Thank you," Callum chokes and pulls himself - and Ezran, and Bait - into Adrian's arms as well. 

Adrian is warm and solid underneath his embrace. Although Callum's arms encompass his neck, he knows he wouldn't make it around the man's shoulders which are broad from hauling nets all day out on a boat. Next to him, almost lost underneath Adrian's arm, Ezran's voice is muffled. 

"Thank you," he murmurs. 

Adrian shifts to hold him closer. "Of course my boy," he whispers and Callum doesn't miss the kiss he presses to Ezran's head and then his own head. He closes his head at the feeling of being kissed. 

His mother always kissed them there, too. 

Callum's opening his mouth when there's a squealing whine. 

"Daddy! I wanna hug!" 

A body joins them and Adrian lets out a slightly teary laugh as he opens his arms to let Rosemary fly into them. While Adrian shifts to accommodate a third - or fourth, counting Bait - Callum catches sight of his little brother. 

Ezran still has one arm wrapped around Bait, who doesn't look very happy about it but isn't protesting and is smiling when Rosemary snuggles into her father's arm, right where his heart sits underneath his skin. Even though he's smiling, Callum can see the underlining sadness in his eyes. 

He gets it.

They may never get to hug their father again. 

Callum's arms suddenly ache with the realization. There's a voice in the back of his mind whispering all those times he rejected Harrow's affection, whether in material goods or simple gestures like walks or a trip to the stream that ran along the cliffside the castle Callum so loved to sketch the forest line from, he was rejecting Harrow himself. 

He tears up suddenly at that as his chest hollows out. How many times has Callum called Harrow some title when all he really ached to do was call him _"dad"_? How many times had he told himself he just needed a little more time before he took that leap, before he said it?

Callum wonders how Harrow would've reacted.

You may never know, the cruel voice in the back of his head spits viciously. It's a sharp knife cleanly slitted through Callum's windpipe. You may never know.

He put it off for so long. Now where is he? 

Crying in the arms of a stranger. Not a stranger, Callum reminds himself, but a friend. Nothing less would invite a total outsider into their house after a mysterious freak accident no one would explain happened. Adrian and Lind had given up so much, and for what? 

He aches to tell Adrian the truth right now. To come clean with all of it - they're in danger. There's an elf near this village, she attacked their aunt, not their mother, and that they're the princes. 

Would it be worth it? To come clean? To expose they've been lying this whole time and possibly putting this family in harm's way? 

Ezran somehow understands what he's thinking because he looks at Callum and then back at Adrian and Rosemary before shaking his head. Quietly, Callum is thankful. How would he say it anyway? 

If he can't even call his father _"dad"_ , how is he supposed to do this? 

He's a coward. 

If Ezran catches the tears on Callum's lash line, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he pulls back from the embrace and sits down at the table. Almost instantly, there's a bowl in front of him and Callum smiles waterly. 

"Not hungry," he says by way of explanation and pushes out of his chair. "Um, our clothes...?" 

"Yes!" Adrian exclaims as he stands as he sets Rosemary down and stands. "Lind washed them out last night and I hung them out to dry. They should be dry by now. Do you want me to iron them before you put them on?" 

Callum shakes his head as he follows the broad-shouldered man. "No, but thank you though. You've been so kind."

"It's nothing," Adrian waves it off as he descends the stairs. Callum struggles to keep up as they climb down to the bait and tackle shop Adrian seems to run. By the looks of things, though, a boat repair shop as well. "I just hope they're dry and clean."

Knitting his eyebrows, Callum weaves around the various tables, covered in boat parts and pieces of fish hooks, half-done. "Why wouldn't they be?"

Adrian looks back at him. 

"Blood is... _particularly_ tricky to get out of clothing."

Callum suddenly can't breathe - how had he forgotten? He knew Gren's clothes were soaked with Amaya's blood but he hadn't looked at his own. He was close to Amaya to as was Ezran. 

"Thankfully," Adrian continues as he pushes open the back door of the shop, "Lind has plenty of experience with that. It took us nearly two years to find the correct solution that didn't shred his clothes completely in the wash or burn a hole through the stain but we found one. Your clothes were dark, too, and the material was very fine, so it wasn't too hard."

He twitches at that. He hadn't thought of how well-made his clothes were, even though they weren't the ones they were wearing when they left the castle. Gren had bought them casual peasant clothing in town but had still sprung for finer material. 

Callum laughs awkwardly as he scratches the back of his head. "Yeah," he chuckles as he catches the screen door before it closes on him, "at least our clothes were darker. Gr - Dad thought it would help us blend in as we travel and not stand out to thieves. Obviously, that didn't work." 

The backyard is cramped, a wooden playhouse tucked into the corner near the fence. Strung up stretching from the house to the far fence is a long clothesline that their clothes hang from. 

Adrian reaches up to unclip them and Callum holds out his arms. There's three sets of trousers and two shifts as well as a single undershirt. 

Callum's eyebrows furrow. "Where's the last tunic? G - Dad's?" 

Wincing as he turns around, Adrian looks apologetic. 

"We uh - couldn't get the stains out. There was a lot of them. We had to just throw it out." 

"Oh," Callum stutters, remembering it was the tunic Gren stripped off to shove against the pale white gleam of Amaya's ribs, dark red covering his hands, dripping onto the cobblestones - 

Adrian's hand is steady on his shoulder, a reassuring weight. His voice is light when he speaks into the slight wind. 

"I was twelve when I met Lind. I was my father's apprentice at this very shop but back then it was a shoe shop. My father was a kind man, all soft edges where Lind's was not. Lind's father was angry, at everyone. He beat his wife until she died and moved onto Lind after her passing. I met him while I was at the market one day and saw him limping along to a back alley. I followed him and found him collapsed in that dark alley," Adrian continues and the sky brightens, growing bluer with every breath, "and took him home. My father didn't ask why or how, just simply brought out his tools for shoemaking and stitched him up. Lind woke halfway through the stitches screaming bloody murder and I had to hold him down. My father joked later it was a hell of a first meeting."

Unheeded, Callum's mind jumps to Gren holding down Amaya's thrashing body with his own. He blinks away tears, the birds a little louder, the wind more tangible against his skin. His tongue no longer tastes dry like dust. 

"You...?" 

Adrian nods, a small smile on his face as he sets the stack of clothes down on the picnic table to their right to kneel so that he's Callum's height. 

"I know how scary it is for someone you love to be in danger or hurt," he says softly, "I know, Callum. But your aunt and her interpreter will be okay, I promise. I know it's hard right now and I won't tell you to be strong for your brother, but he needs you. You know that, don't you?" 

Callum nods before his brain catches up with everything.

He stutters. "M-my aunt?" 

Adrian's smile is kind. 

"My husband is a stubborn, strong man with a kind heart. He can see only what he wants to see in some people, sometimes ignoring things that are right in front of his face. I know you are not who you say you are, Prince Callum."

Adrian catches him when he knees give out. Callum's voice is shaky.

_"H-how...?"_

"Our floors are thin," Adrian says almost sadly but there's a warmth in his expression that Callum can't figure out. "I did not mean to eavesdrop."

Callum's world gives out from underneath him. "I-I'm sorry we lied," he whispers, trembling like a leaf, "but please don't tell anyone. We'll leave if...if you want us too. We would u-understand."

Before he's even done, Adrian's shaking his head.

"Oh my boy," he murmurs and sweeps Callum into his arms, "I would never throw out a family in need. You're struggling and I can see it. You all are. My husband would never let me throw you to the curb even if he knew."

"He doesn't -" 

"- know? No. He doesn't need to. That's something I can't tell him." Adrian continues. "It'll have to come from you." 

Callum hugs back with all the strength in his body. Despite the early hour, he's already exhausted again - it's no wonder. He's sent himself into a panic attack already once and his second is lurking around the corner. 

"Hey," Adrian soothes, "hey. You can go back to bed if you need it. I can see how tired you are. I can take Zeke to see Gren." 

"Ezran," Callum corrects him and looks down at his hands. "Prince Ezran, actually. We didn't want to put you and your family in danger by telling you that you were offering shelter to a Crown Guard, her interpreter and the two Princes." 

Adrian's hand settles on his shoulder as he stands. Callum watches him. 

"You were very brave," Adrian says as he hands Callum the sun-dried clothes. "Your parents must be very proud of you." 

He has no response. Callum looks down instead, blinking away tears.

"Prince Callum?"

"Please…please don't call me that," he says weakly, "and you said you had our saddlebags?" 

With a curious look, Adrian nods. Callum's own nod is jerky. 

"Good. I - I have something you should see." 

Adrian follows him back inside with hesitant steps. Callum doesn’t blame him. 

He can only hope Gren and Amaya can forgive him for all the lies he’s exposed, all the lies Gren’s told to keep them safe. Callum is tired of lying. He can only take so much. 

If he is lucky, Gren will understand. 

Callum wants to see his aunt.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this is late but i had graduation on tuesday (ya girl is officially FREE of high school, thank fucking god) and now the fam and i are packing for vacation. we'll be gone for a week and a half where i won't have access to a computer and right after i get back, i'll be packing for a youth camp that i leave for two days later. so updates will be on hold for about a month, sorry! after that, i promise we'll get back to weekly updates, maybe even double updates to make up for the hiatus and since i'll have extra time, despite me getting a third job. 
> 
> thanks for your patience! enjoy this chapter :) i'll keep y'all updated on my schedule on my tdp twitter, @ qveensarai

  
Adrian sits back in his chair heavily. "Wow."

They'd sent Ezran and Rosemary out into the backyard to play; the apartment is silent except for the open windows creaking with the wind and the chirp of birds outside. Next to him, Callum twists the hem of his tunic around his pointer finger and stares down at the tabletop.

He stands abruptly.

"I'll understand if you don't want us here anymore," he says hurriedly, fearing Adrian's reaction to the letter. After all, it _is_ directly from the Queen and outlines the assassination plot of the Moonshadow elves.

Adrian's shaking his head before Callum is even done talking, "No," he murmurs, laying a hand on Callum's arm and coaxing him to sit, "no, Callum, it's okay. I said before we wouldn't kick you out because you lied to protect your family and that still stands now. I promise."

He sits and it's silent for a minute.

Adrian chuckles suddenly.

"What?"

"Does this mean I have to call you Prince Callum now?"

Without realizing it, Callum chuckles too until they're both laughing, bent over in their chairs. Adrian's laughter fits him like a shirt; bellowing, warm, comforting. All Callum wants to do for a moment is curl up in his burly arms and let the heat radiating off him soak into his bones, soothing the tight skin of his shoulders, taut with stress.

He swallows the urge as quick as it comes. That is - _was_ \- Harrow's job.

Adrian's laughter dies down moments later. "Callum? You alright son?"

"Yeah," Callum chokes, tracing a finger along the crooked vein in the table, "yeah I just...I don't know if my d-dad is okay. If he's alive or not."

"If I know anything about the King and Queen," Adrian says as he scooches his chair closer and lays a hand on Callum's, "it's that they're strong and that they love you. Never doubt a parent's love for their children, Callum. We've all seen Harrow's affection for you, even from all this way away."

"But I'm not his son," Callum whimpers, blinking back tears. "I'm not his. He took me in because my mother married him, because he felt bad-"

_"Stop."_

Callum looks up through watery eyes. Adrian's face is determined but soft around the edges as he squeezes Callum's hand lightly. "Your father loves you, Callum. I can see it. I know he does."

"How do you know?"

Adrian smiles crookedly. "Because I'm not Rosemary's biological father either, but Lind nor I nor the village doubts my love for her."

For a moment, Callum gapes. "But - but - _you..."_

"I know," Adrian laughs, rubbing at his chin, eyes glimmering, "she looks just like me. Got my good looks, doesn't she?"

Callum chuckles. Adrian continues.

"But no, she isn't my daughter by blood. She's Lind's daughter from a fling he had down by the docks with a fisherman's daughter. It's never been a secret he likes everyone he comes in contact with - he used to flirt with anything that moved. Still does, some days, but everyone knows it's in jest. But then there was a little girl at his doorstep and her mother was gone on a fishing trip she never returned from."

Callum leans forward. "Were they...?"

"Heavens no," Adrian chuckles, "Lind was never tied down to anyone until Rosemary was about four, even though he considered settling down with her mother. Darya wouldn't have let him settle down with her just because they had a kid, though. She was stubborn as all hell. Anyway, Lind and I had been friends since we found him at a young man in that alley and my father and I patched him up but I had nurtured a crush on him long before that. I never expected he'd actually like me back - or that his daughter, who he named Rosemary after his mother, would accept me."

Fingers dropping into his lap, Callum just sits there. "Wow."

"Yeah," Adrian says, leaning back, "it's a lot to take in, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"But that's just it," Adrian says leaning forward again to catch both of Callum's hands in his own. "Rosemary isn't mine. She didn't come from me, isn't my flesh and blood. She may have light hair like me and Lind's eyes but she's purely herself. We aren't given the choice who we're made of, Callum, but we're given the choice of who we're with. Do you understand?"

Callum can only nod, mind racing. How many times did Harrow go out of his way to make sure Callum was happy, was doing okay? How many times did he read Callum bedtime stories or accompany him to the woods for him to draw, give him a boost on his shoulders to climb into trees to get the best angles on the sunlight streaming through leaves?

How many times had Harrow wished for something so simple as Callum calling him _dad?_

How many times had Callum denied him that, scared it would tear them apart more, scared it would push Harrow away when all his step-father ever wanted was to pull them closer together?

_Step-father._

_No._

_His dad._

Callum bends his head and cries, bending in on himself, arms wrapping around his shaking shoulders. His figure wracks with sobs and he can hear Adrian murmur something before there are warm arms around him, pulling him into a solid chest.

He leans into it. For a moment, he can imagine he's home. For a moment, he's in Harrow's arms, held close. For a moment, his mother and father are together, laughing, no lines around their mouths, Ezran laughing, jelly on his chin, Bait grumbling, Amaya laughing breathlessly as Gren gazes at her like she's the entire world. Everything is  _right_ for a moment.

The door slams open as the real world slaps him in the face. He's not home, in the arms of his dad.

Callum and Adrian shoot up.

Lind stands in the doorway, shaking, sweat on his collar as well as a dark stain on his chest. Callum's stomach rolls at the wild look in his eyes as well as the stain.

A second later Adrian is on his feet, standing in the doorway, hands coming to take Lind's shoulders. "Darling? What's happened? Are you okay?"

Lind focuses on Callum around his husband's shoulder.

"Amaya's awake."

Callum's out of his seat before he realizes he's not breathing. There's a snake coiling around his throat, butterflies in his stomach, making it hard to think, to breathe.

Amaya's awake.

"P-please," he begs, standing, "please, Lind, can we see her?"

Clutching at the table edge to keep himself upright, Callum watches Lind's face. After a moment, it melts into something softer but there's still an edge of something Callum doesn't quite understand.

"Yes, but you have to understand-"

He's moving before Lind is finished. Somehow, Ezran ends up next to him, clutching his hand like a lifeline and Callum's descending the stairs in jerky, movements.

"Daddy? What's going on?"

Rosemary's voice is sweet and grows softer as they follow Lind, numb. Callum thinks Adrian responds but doesn't catch it.

_Amaya's awake._

He focuses on the sweat stain on Lind's tunic and convinces himself it's not blood. It can't be - he won't let it be. It's _not_ Amaya's.

Head spinning and eyes blurred, Callum leads Ezran as he stumbles over a loose cobblestone and makes a small whimpering noise. Callum pulls him close, one arm around his shoulders.

"Callum? Is she going to be okay?"

Ezran's eyes are already swollen red and angry. Callum feels regret flash through him - Ezran is _ten_. He's supposed to be having fun, laughing, running around, eating jelly tarts and learning how to wield a wooden sword. Not worrying about whether or not his aunt is going to die or if his parents are already dead.

Everything about this is wrong,  _so wrong._

If possible, Callum pulls him closer as they walk. "She's going to be fine," he says shakily. He doesn't even trust his own voice. "She's strong and brave, like you, like Mom says. She's going to be okay."

Ezran nods. He knows neither one of them believes him.

It feels like eons but in reality, it's barely a minute before they're in front of the healer's shop. Callum knows that. Hardly a marathon but he's out of breath as if he's run one. They come to a halt outside the healer's for a small moment before Callum shoulders them through the door.

It's quiet.

Without the hustle and bustle of someone in need, the healer's is quiet and still. There's long shadows and Callum gulps, avoids looking at the knives and needles by the sink, red flaking off the shiny metal.

They both jump when Gren walks out of a room off of the main one and turns. He jumps, too, holding a hand to his chest for a moment before relaxing.

_"Boys."_

Callum tugs Ezran forward, his heart in his throat. "We heard - Lind says she was - is she awake?"

"She was," Gren says softly, looking back at the door for a moment. "It wasn't for long, though, she was barely lucid. You just missed her."

"Oh," Ezran murmurs. Gren smiles sadly in a motion that doesn't reach his eyes and kneels down.

"Your aunt's lost a lot of blood. It's a miracle she even woke this early. She was disoriented and next time she wakes you should be there. She was distraught over your safety. It took me almost the whole time she was coherent to convince her you two were okay."

Ezran runs into Gren's arms with a dry heave and he holds the little boy close as he looks up at Callum. "Your aunt loves your two very much," he whispers, "don't ever doubt that."

"I know," Callum says and plays with the hem of his tunic. "Um, Gren? I-I told Adrian. Well, he actually - he actually found out that we were lying."

All the breath leaves Gren at once. "You what?"

"I, I-"

"Wait, he found _out?_ "

Callum finds he can only nod. With a heavy sigh, Gren rakes a hand down his face as he closes his eyes and Callum catches the shadow of a beard along his chin. Until now, he hadn't noticed the fuzz along his aunt's Commander's face.

"He did."

"How - wait. Let me guess. Heard through the floor?"

Commander Gren huffs a laugh when Callum nods. "Okay, okay. That's okay. How'd he take it?"

"I think you should talk to him about that," Callum mumbles as he spears the toe of his shoe against the floorboards, "but he said he won't tell Lind unless we do or we say it's okay. He said he understood."

"Adrian wasn't mad?"

He shakes his head. "No. He understood, said we could stay with them as long as it takes Amaya to recover."

Gren falls silent after that, eyebrows knitted. Callum gulps.

"Hey, Gren?"

There are dark bruises beneath Gren's eyes when he looks up and Callum doesn't fail to notice the red rings faint against his freckles. "Can we go see her? I know she's not awake but-"

"Yes," Gren breathes, "yes, you can. I'm so sorry Callum, I should've known you'd want to see her, I'm sorry. Do you want to see her together or...?"

Ezran shakes his head next to Callum, slipping his hand from his brother's. "Let Callum go first."

"Are you sure, Ez?"

His little brother nods. "Yeah. Go ahead. I know you need to talk to her. She'd be worried about you if we went together because you wouldn't tell her what's been going on for real. You'd lie because of me."

Callum's eyes prickle with tears. He tugs his little brother close.

"Thank you," he murmurs. Ezran nods, returning the hug briefly before standing back.

"I should've known this is where you two came," Lind chuckles and they all turn at his voice. He approaches, setting a bag down on the counter before setting a hand on Callum's shoulder. "Just to let you know, son, there's a possibility that her eyes might open. Even though she's still hurt, she may still start to move and open her eyes but most likely, she won't be looking at anything in particular."

He nods, swallowing. "Is there any chance she'll see me?"

"We don't know for sure," Lind shrugs, "but you can certainly sign whatever you'd like in case she is."

With a shaky inhale, Callum pushes open the door and walks inside.

There's one window along the opposite wall. The room is barely a square, cramped, enough room for a cot pushed into the corner and a bedside table with a single flower in a vase, a syringe on a platter and a rag dotted with blood. There's a chair next to the bedside.

Callum supposes Gren brought it in.

On the bed, still except for the movement of her chest underneath her breast bindings, is his Aunt Amaya.

Eyes burning, Callum closes the door behind him. While the bandages wrapped around her ribs and middle have a tiny spot of red in the middle, her skin doesn't look as white as before, instead regaining a bit of olive palor underneath. Her eyes are closed.

He sits down carefully on the seat, scared of waking her.

Amaya doesn't move.

His voice is shaky, weak. Callum doesn't care - he knows she can't hear or see him but it doesn't stop him from opening his mouth. "Hey, Aunt Amaya. It's me, Callum. We...we miss you."

When he reaches for her hand, it's warm. Throat burning from swallowing the urge to cry, he leans forward to kiss her forehead, which is also warm. He doesn't miss the strands of her hair pushed behind her ear.

Even if he hadn't seen it, he's known Gren's been in the room.

Sitting back, Callum keeps a hold of her hand. It's calloused from years of wielding a sword and shield almost her size and Callum imagines how Gren probably kissed every one of them. He wonders briefly how the Commander has dealt with this feeling over the years - the helplessness and desperation of seeing someone you love on the brink of death.

He wonders how close his Aunt Amaya has come to death before. He wonders if this is the close she's ever gotten.

"Please," he begs hoarsely, "please wake up. I don't - I don't know what to do without you. None of us do. _Please,_ Aunt Amaya, we all need you. Mom needs you, Ezran needs you, Commander Gren needs you, I...I need you."

With a shaky hand, Callum wipes away the traitorous tears running down his cheeks. "Take all the time you need to heal," he murmurs, clutching her hand in punctuation of his words, "just please,  _please,_ come home to us."

He swears that for a moment, Amaya's hand tightens around his. 

It's all the answer he needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you in a little while! love you all <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in Katolis, Sarai talks to one of the only people left to talk to and finds a flaw in her story of what happened that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ back in black blasts over intercoms ] it's been like a month but what's UP my DUDES i'm gay and ready to finally finish this fic. shoutout to pride month and now gay wrath month for giving me the strength to actually write again despite all odds. i'm so excited for y'all to see this chapter and the ones after this, which will be extended (again) because i have zero self-control.
> 
> enjoy!

"I want to see them."

Viren's face is blank, devoid of any emotion but Sarai catches the slight widening of his eyes at the demand. He schools his features. "Your Majesty?"

His voice is cool and she has no doubts he's still holding a grudge from her outburst the other day. Good.

Let him hurt as she hurts.

"Do not play games with me, Lord Viren," she seethes lowly, "I know you captured a Moonshadow elf alive from that night. Where are you keeping them? They are not in my dungeons, I checked."

"Sarai," he begins stepping forward before noticing the guards on both sides of the dias' fists clench around their weapons. Sarai holds back a smirk as Viren takes a step back, looks up at her docilely. "My Queen. Which one would you like to see?"

She knows her eyes widen. "Which one-?"

"I captured two alive," Lord Viren continues, inclining his head. "I'm keeping them separate. Which one would you like to see?"

"You do not have the authority to keep them imprisoned," she says sternly and steps down.  It's been days since she's laid down, removed the heavy brass from her brow, taken off her armor. The pauldrons on her shoulders weigh like sacks of flour. "Both. Take me to see both."

It's not a question, it's an order.

Lord Viren seems to understand. "Follow me," he says softly and squaring her shoulders, Sarai does so. She trusts Viren about as far as she can throw him, cripple leg and all.

Harrow trusted him but she never has, especially not now. But she needs him right now.

She's going to get answers.

It does not surprise her that he leads her and her two guards to his quarters, up the spiral stairs and into the tower. Sarai doesn't look away as he gathers things from his desk and waves her towards a large painting on the wall. The painting is a young girl holding a lamb, looking at something that isn't on the canvas. Sarai barely blinks when he pulls one side of the painting away and she finds herself facing a dark passage, stairs leading down.

"Lead the way," she orders when Viren doesn't move. She almost hisses between her teeth. " _Now,_ Viren. I don't have time for your dalliances."

He inclines his head and she follows closely after. The air is damp and cold and she's glad her armor is still firmly on her shoulders and hasn't moved since Harrow's funeral. She's going to get answers.

Viren comes to a stop and presses his hand to various stones and rocks in the wall. Hanging back slightly, Sarai leans over to one of her guards, a young woman with red hair and green eyes. "What do you think?"

Ailbhe looks wary. Sarai doesn't blame her - she's always been distrustful of dark magic and is especially now. It started with Harrow's insistence that they needed it to save Katolis and Duren all those years ago and never stopped. The whole kingdom is wary of dark magic now.

"The elves should be prisoners of the castle," she murmurs so quietly Sarai hardly catches it, "not Lord Viren. The Crown Guard has the right to interrogate them."

Sarai nods. "I agree. What say you, Eamon?"

Her other guard has deep sepia skin and brown eyes, freckles dotting his nose much like his sister's. Although their appearances are about as far from each other's as they can be, both Ailbhe and Eamon have the same squared shoulders and undying loyalty to the crown. Both from a hard-working family from a town a few day's travel from Katolis, she knows they both have their own families to get home to but hold their positions in the highest regard. 

The kingdom comes first to them. 

She values that.

Eamon is opening his mouth to respond but there's a grinding and they all whip around, Sarai's knuckles tightening around the shaft of her spear. She sees Eamon and Ailbhe stiffen before dropping into defense positions, ready to protect her at any cost. Viren looks down and steps aside as a set of stairs appears and clanks downwards.

"I would appreciate the talking about my person done when I'm not around to hear it," Viren says flatly. Sarai doesn't even raise an eyebrow.

"Noted."

Their party of four descends without another word. Sarai shivers once as her foot hits the bottom stair - it's cooler and damper down here. She knows there must be a second entrance by the way a draft goes between the cracks of her armor and knows if she touched the brick, they would come away wet.

"Harsh conditions," she says off-handedly.

Viren rounds on her, the butt of his cane ringing on the cobblestones. "Would you rather they be held in the castle's prisons? May I remind you, Queen Sarai, that the elves _know_ where that is. They murdered H - your _husband_ , the King! They deserve it, the bastards-"

"Enough," Sarai grinds out coldly between clenched teeth and takes a step forward. Viren freezes. Although she's shorter than Viren, she's never been scared of him. They both know she could easily take him down. "I know what they did to my husband, Viren. There is no need to remind me. But may I remind you I am _still his wife_ and reigning power, not you, despite your wishes and history together."

Lord Viren blanches bone-white. She doesn't stop.

"After I speak to the two prisoners alone, my guards staying with you, I will be escorting them upstairs to the dungeons under my jurisdiction as Queen of Katolis. We are not them. We do not treat our prisoners, even those who have murdered our own people, like this. _Especially_ without my permission. Am. I. Understood?"

With every word she's leaning so close until she can almost smell the fear. Some kind of sick pleasure stirs in her chest at the thought of Lord Viren being scared of her.

_Good._

"Yes, My Queen," he murmurs but she can see the deep knit of his eyebrows, the set of his jaw. He's unhappy, he's pissed at her orders but Sarai doesn't _fucking_ care.

She's pissed, too.

She nods then, taking a step back. "The leader. Which door is theirs?"

Wordlessly, Viren points to the one on the left and as Sarai accepts the keyring from his hand, Eamon and Ailbhe step forward to flank him. With a nod, she acknowledges the following of her order and slots the key into the door. Sarai takes a shuddering breath and walks into the room. Immediately she closes the door behind her - Viren is a wild card but she knows he isn't stupid. The elves are secured to the wall and unarmed, she has no doubt.

But she doesn't want anyone overhearing what she has to say.

There's very little light in the square room but she takes out her flint and lights one of the torches on the wall. As the flame roars to life, she lights the torch on the other side and finally faces the body chained to the wall.

Unintentionally, Sarai finds herself holding back a gasp. She knew the battle was bloody and awful, knew the loss of life on both sides that waged in her bedroom and in the hall but hadn't seen the two elves they'd taken into custody afterward.

She had been too busy crouched over Harrow, screaming, pressing her lips to his as if her breath in his deflated lungs could outrun the blood that slipped out of the hole in his armor over his chest. Sarai closes her eyes briefly to the memory of his blood, slippery, running between the hands she clasped over the wound and watched the light fade from his beautiful, striking eyes.

_His fingers scrabble over her wrist, her arm and Sarai sobs. Bodies lay all around them, their own soldiers and the elves' alike, and Sarai kneels over the one person she has left to hold onto and who is rapidly escaping her grasp._

_"You're okay," she gasps, hands covered in an angry red color that blends into Harrow's cape, that burgundy color she once so loved. She hates it now, chest aching as if the hole is in_ her _chest and not his. "You're okay, Harrow, you're okay."_

_The words had been cut off by a sob, Harrow's hand coming to cup her cheek._

_He had smiled._

Harrow had gripped her wrist in a desperate motion, mouthing something she didn't catch. She had leaned closer, her tears slipping onto his cheeks but it had been too late.

She opens them. The first thing she sees is two arms chained to a wall, both purple and blue, limp. Sarai sucks in a breath and takes a step forward, torch in hand.

The elf leans away from the light as she comes barely a foot from them and holds it close enough to see their features. He's shirtless, purple markings on his arms and chest faded but standing out strikingly against his pale skin.

Sarai crouches. "You're the leader, aren't you?"

Silence. She's not surprised.

With a sigh, the Queen sits down. She's just out of reach, barely beyond where the leader's legs could stretch if the elf tried.

"What's your name?"

Silence, again. Sarai huffs a weak laugh. "Yeah, I get it. If I was a prisoner in an unfamiliar country I was waging war on I wouldn't be too chatty either. Especially after killing one of their monarchs."

The elf is focused solely on the wall just past her shoulder. She leans forward.

"Your arms aren't looking so good. Is there any way I could help? You'll lose them if something isn't done." There's still no word so she keeps talking. "When you were arrested you had just shot an arrow into the sky, what we believe was a message to the Dragon Queen. But neither of your ribbons are gone. I've heard about them - a Moonshadow ritual. They're supposed to fall off when the job is done. So you failed."

She sits back. "Yet here you are, two ribbons around your arm." Sarai taps her finger to her chin. "Which means there is a second part to your mission you haven't completed yet, because it isn't yours but rather one of your friends'. And you didn't finish yours. Interesting."

Still nothing.

Making a sound of anguish, Sarai drops her head.

"You killed my husband."

The elf's eyes move at that but Sarai doesn't notice, head in her hands. The grief from the last few days wells up in her chest. "I had to send my children away - my boys. Do you have children? I sent them away because Harrow and I knew one or both of us was going to die. We both knew the sins that had been committed before us and by us but we didn't want Callum and Ezran sharing that burden. They're _kids_ , for the Gods' sake, they didn't understand. I put them on a horse with the only people I trusted in the world and had to watch them leave, knowing it might be _the last time_ I saw them."

"Have you ever had to look at someone and pretend like it wasn't the last? Like you were never going to see them again so you memorized the shape of their nose, the smell when they hugged you, the tears on their cheeks? The knowledge in their eyes, the heartbreak? They knew exactly what was going on and Harrow and I could do nothing but push them away. _Again_."

She stands suddenly, grief morphing into something hotter, bitter.

Sarai speaks lowly only because she doesn't want to be heard. "I do not know if you are married but have children, but think. Think of what you ripped away from me - imagine saying goodbye to your children as you send them away into an uncertain future because it's all you can trust, imagine your home being broken into and ravaged. Imagine holding your partner as he dies in your arms, in your own bedroom, his blood beneath your fingernails."

Choking back a sob, Sarai finds she can't stop.

"Imagine being all alone in the world, without your husband or your children or any of your family. You took my husband, my children, my family. Yet you have nothing to say." She looks down at the elf and spits her last few words. "You sit in _MY_ castle, in _MY_ dungeons, tied to _MY_ wall after taking _MY_ family and yet you can't even look me in the eye. Maybe Viren was right. You do deserve to be down here, rotting away, unknown."

The heels on her boots click as she turns, cape fluttering. Suddenly she's tired all over again, her armor too heavy on her shoulders, her circlet an iron weight on her brown instead of hammered brass.

Sarai's hand is rested on the doorknob when the elf coughs, followed by a rough voice that speaks to misuse.

"You're wrong."

She turns. "Excuse me?"

The elf pushes himself up into more of sitting position. His eyes are a striking blue in the flickering torch light but Sarai is more intrigued than anything else.

"You're wrong," he repeats, staring her straight in the eye. "This is _HIS_ prison, _HIS_ wall I'm chained to. I doubt you even knew about me until now. No one does. And you're wrong about me, too - I have my own family. A husband. A daughter."

His voice drops. "I am truly sorry, Queen Sarai, that you had to send your children away. I know how hard it is to part with them. My daughter said on the way here that taking life over and over in revenge meant it would never end - and it hasn't. It won't. I'm sorry about your husband's death, I'm sorry he got in the way. He wasn't meant to die."

Sarai freezes. "What?" Her voice betrays the tremble in her chest.

"My name is Runaan," the elf says, "and King Harrow wasn't our mission that night. The man that keeps my comrade and I here, the man that killed the Dragon King and his heir, was the target. The one by your side you call  _Lord Viren."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ rubs raccoon hands together ] the thick plottens


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i meant to post this yesterday but ao3 was being A Buttface and wasn't cooperating, so sorry for the late update! once again, the chapter count will go up but only to about 23 - i can't seem to stay on outline and in that process found a plot hole i'll have to tie up. thanks for staying with me through this wild ride! see you next week.
> 
> a special shoutout to kukiscr because without her, this fic would not be as far as it is. i love her sm go check out her twitter and tumblr!! her art slays me daily

Sarai shuts the door behind her quietly, not giving away anything that happened inside the tiny cell. Viren watches her closely which she smirks internally at - let him grow suspicious if he wishes. She's not scared of him. She doesn't know if she's trying to convince herself or anyone else because her hands shake slightly. She folds them in front of her and takes a deep breath.

“My Queen? You were in there for quite some time.”

She smiles at Eamon but makes it a shaky one - she's just talked to her husband's murderer, in their eyes. “No need to worry, I am fine. I got their leader to talk, though.”

Viren’s eyebrows betray him.

“Oh?”

“His name is Runaan,” Sarai says blandly while checking off points that they agreed on while coming up with their plan, “he’s the leader of the Moonshadow elves sent to kill the King. He finished his mission and shows no remorse. Viren will keep him - I have no use for such a vile beast.”

Lies - all of them. Sarai had all but begged Runaan to let her move him upstairs but he had refused. Said he was better suited in Viren’s hands to see what he was up to and that he wouldn’t leave his fellow elf. Hilah, Runaan said her name was.

Viren’s hands are curled at the top of his cane, tight. “How interesting,” he murmurs before smiling. “I will make sure they are treated as they deserve.”

Sarai inclines her head in acknowledgment before turning to the second door. Despite telling her his companion's name, Runaan refused to tell her if Hilah was his daughter.

She guesses Hilah isn’t - but Runaan doesn’t act like someone in mourning, so his daughter either escaped capture after the blood bath or never participated in the act at all, even though she traveled with the party. Sarai doesn't blame the elf for not sharing his daughter's name because she knows names have a holding to elves. Names can be dangerous.

"Queen Sarai?"

She turns, hand on the knob of the second cell. "Yes, Ailbhe?"

Her guard steps forward, head tilted downwards to speak directly into her ear. Neither one misses how she glances back at Viren as she opens her mouth.

"Are you alright? Do you need a break? I know this is hard-"

Sarai smiles reassuringly, grasping Ailbhe's hand in her own. "Thank you," she murmurs before dropping it to square her shoulders. "But I have to do this alone. You know your orders."

Ailbhe just nods before stepping back next to Viren who looks bored but they know him better than that. Sarai nor her guards believe in his act - she knows he's trying to hear what she's saying to each elf but can't because he cast spells to make sure no one could.

He's too smart for his own good, sometimes.

Sarai smirks at that, back turned to the High Mage before twisting the handle and stepping inside the room.

"Back again," a voice says and Sarai closes the door before she answers.

"Not quite."

Her voice must stun the elf into silence with surprise because she doesn't speak again until Sarai has lit two torches and sits as she did in Runaan's cell. The elf regards her warily. Sarai doesn't blame her - she simply leans forward slightly and scans the elf in front of her in return.

Like Runaan, she has purple markings on her bare arms and legs but unique to every elf, Hilah has a curved, upside-down moon between her eyebrows. Sarai drags her eyes over them. "Runaan says you're Hilah."

Hilah starts for a moment but schools her features quickly into an angry frown. Sarai thinks her younger than her leader. "What did you do to him," she growls, arms yanking on the chains before she's yelping and slumping back.

"Nothing," Sarai says softly. "He told me himself. I'm not here to hurt you - do you need anything?"

Something in Hilah's eyes softens. "You're Queen Sarai."

Despite everything, Sarai finds herself smiling slightly. Something in Hilah's eyes reminds her of Callum and she finds herself latching onto this assassin because she has no choice.

"I am," she murmurs. "And I reassure you that your leader is fine. I tried to move Runaan to my dungeons instead but he insisted he stay down here, with you."

Hilah watches her as if Sarai is going to bite her. "I am not surprised. We are bound to each other and justice."

Nodding, Sarai laces together her fingers. "I know, he told me. You never answered my question, though; do you need anything? Anything at all? These conditions are awful, even for assassins."

"I am fine," the elf insists, "I do not need your help."

"You may not," Sarai concedes but nods to her cuffs, "but your arms do. Please, is there anything I can do?"

"If Runaan told you my name and part of our mission I have to believe he also told you these will not come off until our job is complete."

Sarai hangs her head with a sigh. "I know. I just wish I could do something to help."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

When Sarai looks up, Hilah is studying her face in the torchlight. "Why are you being so kind to us? We killed your King."

Sarai flinches.

"I haven't forgotten; he was my husband, not my King, but Runaan shared some very interesting information with me about your mission."

Hilah is silent. Sarai looks up - the elf's eyes are remorseful but determination and understanding are stirring beneath it all.

She sucks in a breath and leans forward. "Tell me about your real target that night - Lord Viren, _not_ my husband."

* * *

_"Captain? How will we know who we're looking for?"_

_The Captain smirks, face to the breeze before turning around, a smirk playing on curved lips "We won't be looking for them. They'll be coming to us. It's a waiting game."_

* * *

"My Queen-"

"No," Sarai says for what seems like the hundredth time. "I cannot, Lord Viren. I'm sorry."

He waves his hands, obviously angry as he paces, cane striking the cobblestones of the Great Hall. Sarai leans back heavily in her throne, avoiding looking at the empty one next to her, fingertips pressed into her temples.

"Is that all?"

"No!" Viren shouts, running a hand through his hair and turning to her. "Queen Sarai, you must tell me what they told you - they are liars, deceivers, murderers! You cannot put stock in anything they said to you, especially their leader-"

Her blood boils and suddenly she's standing. " _ENOUGH_ , Lord Viren!"

The Hall falls silent and Sarai growls. The days are stacking up, running over, Harrow's fading eyes as his hand loosened on her wrist, his blood on their bedroom floor, the roll of parchment on his desk addressed to Callum she's too scared to break the seal on.

She received word as soon as she got back to the Hall - General Amaya and Commander Gren never reached the checkpoint. Her legs threaten to give out any minute.

In a matter of two weeks, Sarai has lost almost all of her family.

Viren's lips purse when he notices her waver. Sarai glares at him, daring him to say a word - she knows he won't. He wouldn't dare. He may be a traitor and a coward but he isn't stupid, as much as she wishes he was sometimes.

Runaan's word echo in her ears, taunting her. _True target._

It was Viren who warned them of the attack.

Sarai hates him. She's never been overly fond of the thin, tall man who Harrow was best friends with since childhood and despite up until now to his knowledge, knew of their nights together. Sarai had never faulted Harrow for it - she's had companions before their marriage. She never doubted his feelings for her although she never missed Viren's long looks.

She hadn't faulted them for it. The taking of the Titan's heart had changed whatever neutral feelings Sarai had had for the slimy man. She knows that had she perished in her mission to save Queens Annika and Neha that fateful night, Viren would've become Harrow's advisor.

She hates even the thought of it.

Sarai wants her sister back. If she must rule without Harrow by her side, if she is the chief power, she needs Amaya as her second.

She needs her family back.

Even now, her hand wrapped around her spear, she wishes they were around Callum and Ezran's shoulders instead, drawing them in. She longs to bury her face in Ezran's small shoulder, swipe back Callum's mop of curls and press a kiss to his forehead, like she did when he was young. Has he forgotten? Sarai hardly remembers what they smell like anymore - Callum of charcoal and ink, rolls of parchment. Or was it sunlight and the wooden swords he and Ezran play-fought with, laughing, echoing across the courtyard? Did Ezran smell like dirt and earth and soap and freshly-baked bread or like his bedsheets and Bait's wet kisses?

It terrifies her, the thought of not remembering her children. It's been two weeks and she's slipping - what will it be like without Harrow? Will she forget his low, booming laugh, the warmth of his palms, the gold-tipped braids she so loved to wrap around her fingers when they were alone? Will she forget his smile and how it wrinkled his eyes, the way he cried when Callum first called him dad and Ezran took his first shaky steps in his direction? Will she no longer be able to recall his voice, the low baritone like the rich red wine they drank on their wedding night?

The man in front of her has taken those memories from her.

Sarai hates Viren.

It was Viren who heard of the attack first, who shook her and Harrow awake in the dead of night, panic in his eyes. Was it all for show? Did Viren know the plan, did Viren allow for the guards to be more diligent that night, make it harder for Sarai and Harrow to sneak their sons and the General and Commander out?

Was it Viren, really, whose blade went through Harrow's stomach, not Runaan's? Was it his plan, his genius?

Her arm throbs at the thought, that the arrow that stuck into it and her leg was put there by Viren's orders and deceit. She breathes while her husband does not.

She lit the torch that touched Harrow's pyre. She placed his ashes under the statue at the edge of Katolis, looked up into the marble carved eyes that she once knew, and did not weep.

Sarai does not weep now.

She explodes.

"I do not have to tell you _ANYTHING_ ," she yells, suddenly not caring of who hears her. Let them. Her husband is dead. Her husband's best friend was the target, the conspirator, possibly. "You, Lord Viren, are the one to tell _ME_ things."

"Queen S-"

 _"NO!"_ she screams, marching down the stairs. Her footsteps are heavy, angry, she sees the guards out of the corner of her eye shift on their feet. They're uneasy, scared. ""I HAVE TOLERATED YOUR SUBORDINANCE FOR TOO LONG, _HIGH MAGE_. FIRST YOU IMPRISON TERRORISTS AND MURDERS OF OUR COUNTRY UNDER YOUR OWN JURISDICTION, THEN YOU DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT THEY SAID TOP ME WHEN I QUESTIONED THEM? THAT IS NOT YOUR PLACE AND IT _NEVER_ HAS BEEN."

He backs up but she follows, one hand wrapped around her spear and the other jabbing at his chest. He's spooked - she sees it in his eyes. "Sarai-"

"It never has been."

Her finger pushes into his chest directly and he falls back. Sarai does not care about the pained groan he makes when he hits the ground and follows him instead, feet on either side of his waist. She lets the spear spin downwards in her hand to level with his throat.

Viren gulps. She can see her angry glare, the downturn of her mouth reflected in his eyes.

"Your Majesty?" His voice shakes. She takes pleasure in it.

Let him be afraid.

Let him tremble as she did. Let him shrink back under the weight of the knowledge she has won, she will win, she will rip away his titles and make him hurt as she does, even now.

If he moves even an inch, her spear will press into his throat.

He walks on a tightrope she makes, now.

"It never _will be."_

The doors clang open. Sarai's head swivels up and her heart breaks but hardens with the sight.

Claudia stands in the doorway. Her chest heaves with heavy breaths and her eyes are set firmly on how close Sarai's spear is to her Father's throat. There's a book cradled to her chest, clutched by white knuckles.

_"Father?"_

Sarai stands and strides out of the Great Hall. She doesn't look back.

Thankfully, the tears don't fall until she's in her dark and unfamiliar quarters, a far cry from the ones she once shared with Harrow.

* * *

Amaya floats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ insert 4858593847582928475 winky faces ]

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to review! i would love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> see you next week !


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